


aftermath

by capriciouslouis



Series: the roommates 'verse [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Name-Calling, Public Hand Jobs, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, gonna keep updating tags as i go bc who even knows what has happened in this fic at this point, i know wally isn't in season one but HE IS NOW, this whole thing is a huge mess i hope ur ready
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-30 11:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 273,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15095348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capriciouslouis/pseuds/capriciouslouis
Summary: Nine months after the particle accelerator explosion, Barry wakes up to find that his life is very different from how he remembers. Iris has a new boyfriend; Joe has a new son. Caitlin is miserable, Cisco is subdued, and Doctor Wells is in a wheelchair with his reputation in tatters.Oh, and Barry's a superhero now, apparently.The only part of Barry's life that hasn't changed is his relationship with Leonard - or so he thinks. Len, meanwhile, is trying to juggle domestic bliss, a new arch nemesis and a criminal career that has proven disconcertingly easy to slip back into.(A rewrite of season one of the Flash, except Barry and Leonard are dating from the onset. The whole thing is just as complicated as you might expect.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> technically this fic is part three of a series, but you absolutely don't have to read the first two parts to read this. all you need to know is that barry and len have been dating for about six months pre-accelerator (i think?? i wrote part one like two years ago, so i may be a little off) and barry was friends with cisco and caitlin before the whole particle accelerator thing. if you /want/ to read parts one and two, of course feel free :) and i hope you enjoy!
> 
> content warning: this chapter contains sex, if you wanna skip it, stop at "That's more like it," and begin reading again after "Round two?" there's also an instance where a character calls another character a slut - it's consensual and not meant in a degrading way, but just so you're aware if that isn't your thing!
> 
> also, this chapter absolutely does not reflect the overall amount of sex in this fic, it's definitely an anomaly. there is more sex, but it's not gonna be like, every single chapter or anything

“Cisco, can you turn that down?”

It was a mild afternoon in Central City, and S.T.A.R Labs, as per usual, was practically deserted. Doctor Wells was sequestered away in some office on the other side of the building, doing whatever it was that scientific geniuses did for fun - probably something incomprehensibly brilliant - and therefore wasn’t around to complain about the copious amount of dreadful pop music that was filling the main part of the laboratory.

Caitlin, however, did not have such a luxury. She and Cisco were on opposite sides of the room, but this was not a great enough distance to protect her from the music he was cheerfully blasting throughout the room. For a good ten minutes since it had been switched on, she had accepted the music with remarkably good grace, but enough was enough. It was giving her a headache.

“What?” Cisco called, not looking up from his computer screen.

Caitlin gritted her teeth. Point proven. The music was way too loud.

“I said, can you turn that music down? It’s giving me a headache.”

Cisco pouted. “Aww, c’mon, Caitlin. You know it’s not for me.”

He glanced meaningfully across the room at the prone form of Barry Allen, who was lying in a hospital bed, dead to the world.--

Since Barry had been transferred to S.T.A.R Labs more than six months prior, Caitlin had been carefully monitoring him, poring over every single reading they took from him. Every slight change in heart rate, body temperature, biochemistry and everything else that one could possibly measure was being monitored. From the second they’d wheeled him into S.T.A.R Labs, Barry had been kept under constant watch, if not by Caitlin then by Cisco or Doctor Wells - and not once in the seven months he’d been here had Barry ever risen higher on the Glasgow Coma Scale than about a 5.

In that time, he’d had dozens of visitors, from famous ex-millionaires - the day Oliver Queen had marched through their doors to visit, Cisco had nearly had a heart attack -  to close family, like his foster father Joe West and almost-sister, Iris. And Barry’s most frequent visitor, of course, was his boyfriend, Leonard Snart. Snart was rude, cold, and almost universally despised by everyone else Barry knew. The only thing more intimidating than Leonard visiting - which he did almost daily - was when he bought friends. Lisa Snart and Mick Rory were as different as chalk and cheese, but one thing they had in common was that they were terrifying.

To Caitlin’s relief, those two didn’t visit very often.

All of these people came to visit Barry; they held his hand, talked to him, read to him, bellowed at him, poked and prodded him, bribed him, threatened him, coaxed and wheedled, offered a million one suggestions as to how to wake him up - which Caitlin, being an actual medical professional, found in equal parts amusing and exasperating - and after seven months of all that occurring under Caitlin’s watchful eye, Barry had never so much as twitched in response.

Barry Allen was about as deeply in a coma as it was possible to be. Henceforth, Caitlin was somewhat sceptical about exactly what benefit he was gaining from Cisco blasting Lady Gaga at him from across the room.

“Could you at least play something different?” she asked pleadingly. “I’m sick of hearing _Poker Face._ ”

“He likes Lady Gaga!” Cisco said defensively, holding his hands up. “Leonard specifically told me that Barry loves Lady Gaga.”

“That doesn’t mean he wants to listen to her _constantly,_ Cisco. I like listening to ABBA; that doesn’t mean I want somebody blasting them at me 24/7.”

“You listen to ABBA?” Cisco asked, mildly appalled.

Rolling her eyes, Caitlin got to her feet. Clearly arguing was doing no good whatsoever. Marching over to the speakers, she very forcibly turned the volume right down, twisting the volume knob as if it had personally offended her. All of a sudden, Lady Gaga was whispering at them at a far more acceptable volume. With a sigh of relief, Caitlin stepped away.

“Hey!” Cisco said, hurrying over. “Barry was listening to that.”

“The whole city was listening to that. _Cisco_!”

He had turned the volume up again. Turning to her, he folded his arms and gave her a sanctimonious look.

“Think about what it must be like for Barry, just lying there all day with nothing to do. You really wanna deprive him of the pleasure of great music?”

“I want to deprive him of a perforated eardrum!” Caitlin said, and turned the volume back down.

Cisco reached for the volume knob; she grabbed his arm. They tussled violently, the switch getting yanked up and down so that the music wavered up and down like a badly tuned radio. Caitlin succeeded in turning it down again with a cry of triumph, but as she did so, Cisco gave the volume knob a wrench, turning it to maximum and breaking it off in one sharp yank.

They both stared, horrified, at the little bit of plastic in Cisco’s hand. Meanwhile, the bass was pumping obnoxiously out of the speakers, so loudly that the whole room buzzed. If Caitlin had a headache before, now it was definitely on the brink of becoming a full-blown migraine. In a panic, Cisco started stabbing buttons on the speakers, waving the volume knob in the air like it might leap out of his hand and reattach itself. The music continued playing.

Caitlin grabbed her head in both hands. Doctor Wells would be down here in a minute; even in his office on the other side of the building he couldn’t fail to hear that. In fact, the police would probably be here soon to arrest them for noise pollution.

“Turn it off!” she yelled.

“What?” Cisco yelled back.

“CISCO RAMON, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T TURN THAT RACKET O - ”

A yell of shock from the other side of the room made them both whirl around. Barry was sat up in bed, his eyes wide, looking frantically around him. Clinging onto the bed-frame, he stared at them in complete bewilderment.

“Oh my God,” Caitlin said.

Barry’s lips moved, but they couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

“What?” Caitlin shouted.

“ARE HIS VOCAL CORDS DAMAGED?” Cisco bellowed.

Barry was looking desperately around the room, his mouth hanging open. Frantically, he turned to them and made some kind of gesture with his arms.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Cisco yelled. “LET ME TURN THIS OFF.”

Diving behind the speakers, he grabbed the plug and yanked it out of its socket.

Blissful silence descended on the room. It was so wonderfully quiet that Caitlin could hear Barry’s ragged breathing, and all the machines going haywire as they measured the sudden influx of activity in his body.

Drawing closer, Cisco said, “Barry?”

“Yeah?” Barry said.

His voice was a little raspy from disuse, but otherwise fine.

“What was that you were saying?”

“I said can you turn that off? I can’t stand Lady Gaga.”

A huge grin spread across Cisco’s face. “He lives! Oh, man!”

He launched himself at Barry, enveloping him in an enormous hug. Caitlin rushed forwards, already whipping out a little flashlight and shining it in Barry’s eyes. He blinked at her, reeling away from the light.

“Pupils equally reactive to light,” she said to no one in particular. “Look at me, Barry, look at me, I’m trying to examine you - ”

He ducked away from her, squinting, one arm thrown up to protect his face. “Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” he mumbled. “Where am I?”

“You’re at S.T.A.R Labs, you’re fine,” Cisco said. “We’ve been taking care of you.”

“Taking care of me? What happened, am I ill?”

Caitlin had already whipped out an otoscope and was peering interestedly into his ear, checking for obstructions. A little earwax, but nothing unusual. A thought suddenly occurred to her and she dived across the room, searching for a container.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Cisco asked, still beaming from ear to ear.

Poor Barry was hanging onto the sides of the bed like he half expected it to buck him off. “I was… I was in my lab at the CCPD, I went to pick something up, I - there were these liquids, and they were floating - ”

Currently uninterested in mysterious floating liquids, Caitlin shoved a small plastic pot underneath his nose. “I need you to urinate in this.”

“Not _now,_ Jesus, give the guy time to breathe!” Cisco scolded, confiscating the pot. “Barry, hey, listen to me. You’ve been in a coma, okay? You were hit by lightning, you’ve been out for kind of a while.”

Barry froze midway through trying to climb out of the bed. “What? H-how long?”

“Give or take nine months,” Caitlin said, pulling out a syringe. “Can I take a blood test?”

“Nine months?” Barry said, horrified. “...I think I’m gonna puke.”

He snatched the pot out of Cisco’s hands and dry heaved several times. Caitlin didn’t have much faith in the pot’s ability to hold copious amounts of vomit; she shoved the syringe at Cisco and snatched a bowl from underneath the bed. She stuck it underneath Barry’s nose just in time for him to vomit into it. There wasn’t much for him to throw up, aside from the liquid they’d been feeding into him via a tube, which had to taste absolutely vile. After a minute or two of retching, Barry weakly put the bowl on the floor and started shivering.

“Cisco, get him a shirt,” Caitlin ordered.

“You get him a shirt; you’re the one who’s freaking him out. Quit taking samples, you’ve had nine months to do that - ”

“Yeah, and I need to take more now that he’s awake, the data’s going to be totally different - ”

“We need to call Doctor Wells,” Cisco said. “He should see this - hey, Barry, are you gonna puke again?”

Barry hung dizzily over the side of the bed. “I...I don’t remember anything,” he said. “I remember the particle accelerator...there was this weird shockwave...and then I woke up and… Lady Gaga…”

“You mean you couldn’t hear anything while you were out?” Cisco demanded. “Nothing at all? You don’t remember a single word? Damn, Leonard’s gonna be pissed. He spent months reading you all those classics to broaden your literary horizons and you weren’t listening to a word of it. Still, I guess it might have worked, you know what they say about making babies listen to Mozart when they’re asleep - ”

Barry had only heard one word in this speech and sat bolt upright. “Leonard?” he said hoarsely. “Len was here?”

“Yeah, you just missed him. He couldn’t have left more than an hour ago. He drops by most days, actually, man, he’s gonna be pissed he wasn’t here when you woke up - ”

“Len hates Lady Gaga,” Barry said faintly. “Where is he?”

“At home probably; he dropped by after work, like he does every day… you want us to call him?”

“No,” Barry said, struggling out of bed. He flinched as his feet hit the cold floor, sending icicles shooting up through the soles of his feet. “No, I wanna - I wanna go see him, can I borrow some clothes?”

Caitlin retrieved a S.T.A.R Labs sweater and some jeans from a closet.

“They’re Cisco’s, so they might be a bit short on you - ”

“Hey!” Cisco said indignantly.

“It’s remarkable,” Caitlin marvelled as Barry started pulling on the clothes, so hasty to be out of there that he forgot to be self-conscious. “Your muscles should be atrophied but they’re in some kind of unexplained state of cellular regeneration. There’s no way you should be able to sit up, let alone walk and get dressed and - wait, where are you going?”

Barry was already halfway towards the door, his feet sliding around in an overlarge pair of pristine white sneakers. “I have to go see Leonard.”

“What? No! Barry, you just came out of a coma - we have to run more tests, Doctor Wells is heading down to see you right now!”

The mention of more tests had had no impact on Barry whatsoever unless it was to speed him up a little, but he froze at the mention of Doctor Wells.

“Doctor Wells… wants to see _me_?”

“Of course, he’s going to be so excited you’ve woken up, we’ve been monitoring you constantly for months - ”

Barry hesitated for a split second. Doctor Wells was his hero, and had been for a long time. On the train to Starling City the other night… or, apparently, nine months ago… he’d devoured the man’s autobiography, almost shaking with excitement as he read it. Wells was a genius. Finding out Cisco and Caitlin worked with him shortly after befriending them had made Barry so excited that he almost made a complete idiot of himself by begging them to introduce him. He’d told himself that Wells was a busy man, he didn’t have time for forensic scientist fanboys who would just blather and fawn if they ever got to meet him. But now, Doctor Wells wanted to meet _him._ Barry Allen. And if he started blathering like an idiot, he could blame it on the coma. It was like a dream come true…

And then he remembered hanging on to Len’s hand on the night of the particle accelerator switch-on and it all came back to him in a rush.

“I can’t. I have to go see Leonard, I have to see him - tell Doctor Wells I’m sorry.”

“Barry!” Caitlin called, but he was already out through the door.

 

~*~

 

Leonard sat at the kitchen table, picking morosely at the dinner he didn’t want to eat.

He’d known even as he was making it that he wouldn’t want it, but he needed something to distract himself, so he did it anyway. By the time he was at the table with the plate in front of him, he thought he’d rather eat his own fingers than a plate of spaghetti bolognese, but it was a little late for that now. Visiting Barry tended to make him lose his appetite. One look at the kid lying comatose in a hospital bed was enough to set his guts churning.

Leaving him there only made it worse.

Still, he had to eat or he wouldn’t be able to work, and no work meant no money, which meant he’d get kicked out of the apartment and god knows what would happen to Barry. S.T.A.R Labs were charging him a fortune for the privilege of having Barry lie there in their facility day after day and do precisely nothing. Not quite as much as the hospital would have charged him, but it still felt like robbery. Sighing, Len forced a few more forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth.

He’d been picking at the meal for around ten minutes when he heard something. It sounded suspiciously like someone hanging around the front door, so he put his head down and ignored it. At first.

Then he heard the far more distinct sound of someone putting a key into the lock and his head jerked.

Instantly, his brain was running at a hundred miles an hour. Len didn’t do visitors, and he certainly didn’t do _unannounced_ visitors. Aside from himself and Barry, the only person who had a key to the apartment was Iris - Barry had given her one way back when he first moved in. (Len didn’t bother giving anybody a key; none of his friends or associates needed a key to get in.)

Iris, however, rarely came round, and she always called first. Not Iris, then.

Whoever it was seemed to be having some trouble with the lock. It was stiff; you had to have the knack to let yourself in first time, there was an awful lot of jiggling and twisting and re-inserting involved if you didn’t get it just right. Slowly, Len got to his feet, careful to keep the chair legs from scraping on the kitchen tiles. He reached for a weapon. The only thing to hand was a wooden mop; he grasped the handle, which would do as a makeshift staff. The actual mop-head wouldn’t do much damage, but he supposed having a face full of damp, smelly mop might give pause to even the most determined burglar.

Len crept forwards, holding his staff in both hands, mop facing away from himself. Flexing his grip, he edged out of the kitchen and closer to the front door. Around the sofa. When he was positioned more or less directly in front of the door, he stopped, getting into a ready stance. Whoever came through that door was going to get a whup in the face with that mop.

The door opened. Len raised his mop - and then Barry stuck his head around the door with a sheepish grin.

Len stopped dead, mop still in the air. He stared, his heart suddenly beating ten times faster.

Barry edged around the front door and closed it behind him, before taking a few tentative steps into the room. His cheeks were pink, like he’d been running, his hair in disarray. Wearing a S.T.A.R Labs sweater and loose jeans, he looked fucking incredible.

“Are you planning to hit me with that, or did I disturb you during a really intense cleaning session?” Barry asked. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to mop the carpet.”

Len dropped the mop. He rushed forwards, and Barry stumbled to meet him. The kid toppled right into Len’s arms, and he was so real and solid and there; he smelt like disinfectant and dry shampoo and his grip was tight enough to let Len know that he too had been missed, that Barry had been as desperate to hold Len as Len was to hold Barry.

Fiercely, Len kissed him. Barry clung to him and kissed back, not seeming to mind when Len raked desperate fingers through his hair, seized handfuls of his sweater and yanked him closer. He was so desperate for skin on skin contact that he pulled the sweater up and put his bare hands all over Barry’s back; Barry flinched because his hands were freezing but he didn’t pull away, just redirected his kisses to Len’s neck instead.

“I missed you,” he murmured. “I missed you so much, I love you, I love you - ”

Len crushed Barry against him, still determined to touch every part of him as he ran his hands all over Barry’s back and then over his stomach and up his chest, all the places he hadn’t been able to touch for the past nine months because of decency and because people were watching and because it was kind of inappropriate to grope someone who was in a coma. _Their_ places, _his_ places. He bit Barry’s neck, hard, and when Barry shuddered he felt a rush of satisfaction, hoped it would bruise. He’d tried pinching Barry when he was in the coma, hoping to wake him or at least make him twitch, and had no reaction; such a visceral response made him giddy.

“I came as soon as I could, I woke up and I came straight here, I love you - ”

Barry’s babbling was music to his ears; his voice was so much more wonderful than Len had remembered, like velvet, and all of a sudden kissing was a little lower on his list of priorities because he needed to hear Barry speak - amongst other things. He bit Barry’s neck again, trying to make him moan, because God knows _that_ was a sound he’d gone too long without - and then Barry started gently pulling back.

“Are you mad at me? I’m sorry I took so long, I came as soon as I could. Please talk to me.”

“Screw that,” Len growled. “All I’ve done for the past nine months is talk. I’m sick of the sound of my own voice; the only person I want to hear talk is you.”

“Okay,” Barry said breathlessly, holding him tighter. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Fucking anything, I don’t care. Fuel prices. Tax inflation. Forensic jargon. I don’t really give a shit, just don’t stop talking.”

“Okay, then how about this,” said Barry, and he caught Len’s face in his hands and leaned back to look him in the eye. “I’m never leaving you again. I missed you more than anything, and I’m going to make sure I never do that to you again.”

“That’s more like it,” Len told him, and kissed him again just because he could.

Barry moaned quietly and shifted his weight, and Len was suddenly aware of the fact that Barry was hard and apparently trying very hard not to grind against him. Breathlessly, he drew back.

“Sorry,” Barry said. “It’s been a while, y’know. And with you kissing me like that… just give me a minute to, y’know, calm down. I know it’s not the best time for… y’know.”

“Barry Allen,” Len said, “I have been deprived of ‘y’know’ for the past nine months. All I have thought about, aside from how much I want to kill you for being struck by _lightning -_ ” he tugged Barry’s hair, making him moan again “ - is how much I want to, ‘y’know.’ So we should probably start right now.”

“Oh,” Barry said weakly. “Fair enough.”

Grabbing Barry’s face in both hands, Len kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; all the months of loneliness and anger and pain were poured into it, but Barry just kissed him right back and pulled him even closer. Len’s hands moved to his waist, then slid underneath his shirt, untucking it. Putting one finger to his mouth, Len sucked on it and then slowly let his hand wander back down and pressed just the tip of his finger against Barry’s hole.

Barry drew in a shocked breath. Len paused, still applying pressure firm enough for Barry to feel but not enough to actually slip his finger inside.

“You want it?” he asked softly.

Closing his eyes, Barry nodded.

Len bit down on his neck, and not gently either. “What did I say about missing the sound of your voice?”

“Oh, God,” Barry said hoarsely. “Please.”

Their bodies were pressed so closely together that Len could feel how hard Barry was against him. For a minute he gave in to the urge to just grind against him; he rolled his hips, and Barry gasped and responded, pressing back just as eagerly.

But Len didn’t want to just stand here and rut against him like a horny teenager, so he pressed just the tip of his finger in.

The noise Barry made was fucking obscene; he tilted his head back and his mouth fell open, and Len had forgotten just how hot he sounded. He pushed his finger in deeper, watching the pleasure unfurl across Barry’s face - and then Barry clenched around him and suddenly Len couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled his finger out.

Before Barry’s whine of disappointment had even completely left his mouth Len was dragging him into their bedroom and throwing him down onto the bed. He practically ripped the S.T.A.R Labs sweater over Barry’s head, casting it onto the floor - and then he stopped dead.

“ _Abs_?” he said incredulously.

It wasn’t as if Barry had ever been in bad shape, but he’d always just been sort of skinny. Now, he had a very clearly defined six-pack which definitely hadn’t been there before. Bewildered, Len stared at him.

Barry looked just as confused as he did. “I guess whatever S.T.A.R Labs did to keep my muscles from atrophying must have really worked. Huh…” He ran a hand over his stomach.

Well, they could worry about that later. Len was more inclined to touch Barry than ogle him. He pushed Barry, not hard, but enough to make him take a step back. Then another. Barry’s knees hit the bedframe and his legs folded; he fell back onto the mattress and Len followed, crawling on top of him. Lowering his head, he kissed Barry’s stomach. Then again, slowly getting lower down until his lips were hovering at the top of his jeans. Slowly, Len unfastened the button, pulled the denim back a little to press another kiss to the exposed skin. Barry trembled.

Len pulled back, then. He couldn’t help smirking.

“You asshole,” Barry said fervently, and then he astonished them both by flipping Len over onto his back and straddling him. He hadn’t gone on top often before, and usually it had been a predetermined thing. But all of a sudden there he was, sitting astride Len like he did it every day, his hands anchoring Len’s wrists to the bed.

“Well this is new,” Len managed.

“Yeah, I’m trying for a new angle,” Barry said breathlessly. “You like it?”

“I’m...not opposed to it,” Len said. It was strange, sure, but he could probably get used to it. He pulled one of his hands free and started tugging at the waistband of Barry’s jeans, but Barry made a disapproving noise and caught at his wrist.

“Sweater.”

Rolling his eyes, Len sat up a little and pulled his sweater over his head. It hit the floor with a soft thump that neither of them paid attention to; Barry’s eyes were already wandering. He wasn’t exactly keeping his hands to himself, either. They roamed down from Len’s neck, between his nipples, tracing down his belly and then back up again.

“God, I missed you.”

“You were asleep,” Len reminded him.

“I still missed you.” Barry ground his hips down and they both gasped. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Len didn't need to be asked twice. Immediately, he started fighting with Barry’s pants.

He’d forgotten how clumsy Barry was; taking his pants off without getting up proved to be an impossibility, and so Barry rolled over and started tugging at them himself, swearing viciously as they got tangled around his ankles. Len made short work of his own pants and underwear and then Barry was on top of him again, breathless and beautiful.

“This is still where you keep the lube, right?” Barry asked, leaning over to the top drawer.

“Sure is,” Len said, and he plucked the bottle out of Barry’s hand to coat his fingers, which he then pressed back to Barry’s hole.

As his fingers slipped in - two this time, he knew Barry could take it but he went slowly just in case; it had been a while, after all - Barry cried out and rocked back against him, forcing his fingers in deeper.

“You’re still such a slut,” Len told him.

“And you’re still - ah - a fucking tease,” Barry said. “Come on, give me more. Three fingers, come on.”

“You sure?”

Barry made a frustrated noise and in response, pushed one of his own slender fingers in next to Len’s, stretching himself out. Len might have told him off for that if he wasn’t in total awe; instead, he put his free hand on Barry’s hip and squeezed. It wasn’t the easiest angle for Barry, his wrist was twisted kind of awkwardly, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him. He rocked his hips to compensate and Len surged forwards to kiss him, suddenly overcome by just how much he’d missed him. It felt so good having Barry pressed against him, so needy and desperate that he couldn’t wait. Usually they had more restraint than this, there was a lot more foreplay but neither of them were in the mood to wait around. Len pulled his fingers out, ignoring Barry’s whine of protest, and tugged on his wrist until Barry reluctantly took his finger out, too.

“Just sit tight for a minute,” Len told him as he wrapped his hand around his cock and started to stroke himself. Over the past nine months he’d become way too accustomed to the feel of his own hand, but the lube on his fingers made the slide easier, made it feel so much better. And Barry’s gaze on him, hot and fierce - well, that helped, too.

It didn’t take long for Barry’s impatience to get the better of him and for him to put a hand on his own cock, which looked almost painfully hard. Len had to remind himself that at least he’d been able to touch himself while Barry had been in the coma, whereas for Barry it had been nine months since he’d last had any kind of release. It was kind of impressive that he hadn’t come already.

Even in spite of this, Len didn’t want to rush things _too_ much. As badly as he wanted Barry, he kind of wanted to savour the moment. Nine months of loneliness and misery had culminated in this reunion and he didn’t want it to be over in a few sweaty minutes. Kissing Barry’s neck, he started at the sensitive spot just below his ear, and then his mouth crept down Barry’s throat, making him shiver. 

“Slower, Barry,” Len whispered.

“But - ”

“I’ve been deprived of both your body and your company for nine months. I’d kind of like to take a little more time with this.”

Barry moaned quietly, but he didn’t argue. Pleased, Len moved to the other side of his neck, his mouth dancing down the pale column of Barry’s throat, feeling the pulse beating there. He stopped stroking himself, noticed that Barry’s fingers had loosened around his own cock; he nudged his hand out of the way and started to touch Barry himself, reassured by the weight of him in his hand. Barry was flushed, colour spreading from his cheeks right down to his neck. So fucking beautiful.

“Not really,” Barry said, and Len realised he’d spoken aloud. “Not as beautiful as you.”

“That lightning damage your eyes, Scarlet?” Len asked as he ran his hands down Barry’s sides.

“Didn’t damage a thing. I got the all clear. I’m - _fuck_ \- raring to go,” Barry said, stumbling over his words a little as Len gave his cock a tighter squeeze.

“I bet you are,” Len growled. His hands drifted over Barry’s new stomach muscles again and he frowned. “You’re too skinny.”

Barry looked a little hurt. “I thought you liked that I was skinny.”

“I do, it’s natural for you, but you’ve been fed by a tube for nine months. What’s necessary to keep you alive still isn’t necessarily enough to keep you in shape. I’m gonna have to feed you up.”

“Oh, tell me more.”

“Five meals a day,” Len told him, and he nudged Barry up higher so that he was kneeling up. He put a hand around the base of his cock, guided it to press against Barry’s hole. “Three courses. Lots of dessert. I’ll make anything you want.”

“Ah...sounds good,” Barry said distractedly, pressing down.

That wasn’t quite what Len had in mind yet; he pulled away slightly, and started to rub the head of his cock against Barry’s hole. It took a moment for Barry to catch on, confused by the way Len kept pulling away, but then he got it and started moving his hips, rubbing back against him and chasing the friction. Barry’s mouth fell open and he looked as though he might moan again, but then he pressed his lips tightly together.

Len traced one of Barry’s nipples with his fingertip. “You holding out on me, Barry? I seem to recall asking you to speak up a little more.”

“Shh,” Barry said breathlessly. “I’m - ah - I’m drawing up a menu.”

In spite of himself, Len laughed. Then, he thrust upwards, pushing into Barry in one smooth movement.

He didn’t go too fast, as much as he wanted to. There was a little too much resistance, Barry’s body pushing back even as Barry bore down, trying to pull him inside faster. As he went in deeper, Len held Barry’s sides, keeping him from grinding down too fast.

The noise Barry made when Len finally bottomed out was beautiful to behold - a moan that was so filled with pleasure and relief that it made Len’s cock throb even harder. And the look on his face - pure ecstasy. Len kissed him, couldn’t help doing it. At that moment it was a necessity on par with breathing.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he panted when they pulled apart.

“It’s been nine months!”

“Don’t remind me,” Len growled. “Worst nine months of my life. Never letting you out of my sight again. I leave you to your own devices for one evening and you get hit by fucking lightning. You’re an accident waiting to happen.”

“Do you know the statistical improbability of someone being hit by lightning twice?” Barry asked, still adjusting to the stretch.

“I’d imagine it’s about as high as the statistical improbability of someone being struck by lightning at all,” Len said, “and yet you managed it. Like I said - never letting you out of my sight again.”

“I can get behind that.” Barry shifted slightly. “Can you - please - will you fuck me now?”

“Your wish is my command,” said Len, and he rolled them both over so that he was back on top, before giving a few deep, hard thrusts to show he meant business.  
  
Barry came with a moan, taking Len completely by surprise as he felt Barry shuddering against him. It didn’t last long before he slumped bonelessly to the mattress, panting. Len blinked.

Once he’d caught his breath, Barry said sheepishly, “Oops.”  
  
"That good, huh?'  
  
"Aw come on, I haven't gotten laid in nine months!"  
  
"Neither have I," said Len, brushing a lock of sweaty hair off of Barry’s forehead.  
  
Now it was Barry's turn to be taken by surprise. "You haven't? At all?"  
  
"No. What kind of heartless bastard goes round having sex when the love of his life is in a coma?"

“Nine months though, Len. How long would you have waited? What if I never woke up?”

“Then I’d still be waiting,” Len said simply. 

Barry looked at him then with so much love in his gaze that it might have frightened Len if he hadn't experienced that same intensity every time he'd looked at Barry in that hospital bed. The kid was looking at him like he'd hung the moon and all the stars just for him and set them all ablaze.  
  
Then Len felt his cock twitch and he said wryly, "I hate to kill the mood, but I still haven't..."  
  
Understanding dawned. "Right, right," Barry said. "Sorry."  
  
He flipped them both back over so that Len was once again on the bottom. This had the unfortunate side-effect of detaching their bodies and Len was just about to say something sarcastic about whether they were having sex or doing amateur gymnastics when Barry sank back down in one fluid movement and he suddenly lost all interest in talking.  
  
Settling on his knees, Barry put a hand on the bed to steady himself and then started rocking his hips, riding Len like his life depended on it. Breathlessly, Len put his hands on Barry's waist and tried to match his thrusts where he could, but for the most part he just let Barry take care of him, his forehead furrowed in concentration.  
  
Len, at least, hadn't let his stamina slide while Barry was in that coma. Barry was hard again before too long - oh, to be young, Len thought amusedly - so Len wrapped his fingers around Barry's cock and stroked him as he continued to thrust, Barry's choked-off moans bringing him closer and closer to the edge.  
  
Barry came for the second time with a cry that was at least half frustration as well as pleasure, but Len didn't wait for him to start beating himself up about it. Grabbing Barry's waist, it took him just a few more thrusts and then he came too, panting against Barry’s neck. 

They lay in dreamy silence for a while after that; Barry rolled off Len and onto his back, and he rested his head on Len’s chest. With one arm tightly wrapped around him, Len stroked Barry’s arm with his thumb, just enjoying the sensation of having Barry back in his arms. His pulse soared; Len could feel it beating against his skin where Barry was resting against him, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. The sound of his breathing, unassisted by a machine and still uneven from the exertion, was a symphony. Barry seemed content to just lie there, eyes closed, enjoying being back in his arms - although to him, scarcely any time had passed since he was last in them.

Eventually, Barry stretched sleepily, his joints popping. “I guess we’d better get up soon. I still haven’t told Joe and Iris that I’m awake yet.”

Len stirred in surprise. “You didn’t call them?”

“I didn’t really want to do it over the phone. ‘Hey guys, it’s me, I’ve been in a coma for nine months but I’m fine now!’ It seems kind of cold. I asked Cisco and Caitlin not to call them; I want to see them for myself.”

“I kind of thought you’d have gone to them first,” Len admitted.

He felt Barry smile against his skin. “I thought about it, but I wanted to see you. And I kind of figured we wouldn’t be getting any alone time for a while once they find out I’m awake.”

Len snorted. “You didn’t tell your family that you came out of a coma because you wanted to get laid first?”

“I’ve been unconscious for nine months, I’m sure a few more hours can’t hurt. Besides,” he said with a smirk, “I didn’t catch you complaining.”

“Would I ever?” Len asked, with only a small amount of sarcasm.

“Honestly, at this point, I’d be concerned if you didn’t. It’s gotta be like, eighty percent of your personality.”

Sighing, Barry got up. He stretched, arms reaching way above his head, and Len lay back to admire him with a smirk. All of that belonged to him. His gaze roamed from the top of Barry’s head, down his shoulders, the muscles of his back, drinking in his long supple limbs and the sweet curve of his ass, all the way down his legs to his heels...and then back up to his ass again, because that was one part of him that Len had definitely missed looking at.

“Quit looking at my ass.”

“I’ve gone nine months without looking at your ass, Barry, you gotta cut me a little slack.”

Looking coyly over his shoulder, Barry said, “I’m sure the novelty will wear off soon; maybe I’d better start covering it up before you get bored of looking at it again.”

He made as if to leave the room, but before he’d gone more than two steps, Len leaned over the edge of the bed and snagged his wrist. He reeled Barry back in, while the younger man tried to hide his laughter; Len yanked him back down onto the bed and started smothering him in kisses - something which later, he would deny ever doing - until Barry was rolling about laughing helplessly, and having no further intentions of getting out of bed any time soon.

For good measure, then, Len started kissing him properly. He began at the corners of Barry’s mouth, travelling from right to left with the lightest of kisses, like a butterfly dancing across Barry’s lips. Then he moved to his jaw, kissing all the way down to Barry’s collarbone, his teeth scraping against the spot where the bone jutted out against the skin, and then licking lightly over it, to soothe the pain. Barry shivered, and Len switched sides to kiss down to his right nipple, swirl his tongue around it and watch it grow hard. The left nipple got the same treatment, and Len’s mouth carried on downwards, down the middle of Barry’s newly defined abs, brushing across his belly, worshipping each hip-bone. His teeth scraped the left one and Barry cried out, reaching for Len’s shoulders; Len allowed himself a smirk before he ran his tongue from one hip-bone to another, and then breathed lightly on the sensitive skin a few inches before Barry’s cock, which was rock hard again. Barry moaned and his fingernails lightly scraped Len’s shoulders, sending rivulets of pleasure shooting down his spine.

“Round two?” Len asked.

“Oh, God, yes,” said Barry, and pushed his head down.

 

~*~

 

They walked hand in hand into Jitters, and Barry thought there wasn’t a person in the world who was happier than he was at that moment. Tucked into Len’s side, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Len had never exactly been allergic to PDA but he’d always been more reserved in public. Today, though, he kept Barry close, like he was afraid he might wander away and get hit by lightning again if Len get him go. Barry wasn’t complaining. He was kind of enjoying being made a fuss of, and although he knew he’d got the easy end of the deal - nine months without Len had passed in the blink of an eye for him, whereas Len had endured the whole thing alone - he still hated the thought that he’d left Len alone for so long. He had no intention of letting Len out of his sight, either.

Iris was leaning over a table, methodically wiping it with a cloth. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, catching her hair; she looked beautiful, her forehead furrowed slightly in concentration. Wordlessly, Barry moved towards her and Len came with him like a planet circling in his orbit. The wisdom of this was questionable - Leonard and Iris had never seen eye to eye - but he figured that even Iris could set aside her dislike for his boyfriend at the sight of her best friend having finally resurfaced from a coma.

She didn’t look up as they drew close, still apparently absorbed in wiping the table. If Barry knew Iris, her mind was elsewhere. Probably thinking of something clever, or running over ideas for articles in her head. But of course, she’d have graduated by now, he realised. Yet she was still working at Jitters. He wondered why.

For a moment, he just stood drinking her in, relishing the warm feeling of seeing her again. God, he’d missed her. Nine months without his best friend, even if he didn’t remember them, was nine months too long. All of a sudden Barry felt incredibly guilty for going straight into Leonard’s arms instead of coming to her first, but he didn’t think she’d mind. He was here now, after all.

“Iris,” he said.

Absently, she looked up. It took her a minute as she looked at the two of them - Barry, beaming, Len holding his hand like it would kill him to let go. Then, it clicked. Her eyes went round as dinner plates.

“Barry!”

She launched herself at him and crushed him in a hug that was only a few shades away from an assault. Laughing breathlessly, Barry patted her on the back with his free hand. The hug was made a little clumsy by Len’s refusal to let go of his hand, but he worked with it.

Iris buried her face in his neck, and he breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of her. She smelled like home, like family. The ache he’d felt of missing her had already evaporated; he was whole again now, with the two most important people in his world both at his side.

Sparkling with excitement, Iris leapt back to look at him. “When did you wake up?”

“Couple hours ago,” Barry said, unable to keep from grinning. “Miss me?”

She punched his arm. “Barry! _Never. Do. That. To me. Again_!”

She punctuated each word with a new punch; by the time she was done, Barry’s shoulder was tingling and the rest of his arm was going numb, but he didn’t care. Iris could probably have ripped his arm off and it wouldn’t kill his mood. He half expected Len to object to the manhandling, but he just squeezed Barry’s hand as if in agreement with Iris.

“God, look at you! You look exactly the same.” She shook her head in wonder. “Are you okay? I mean, is there any damage?”

Regretfully, Barry looked down at his arm. “I mean, I think I might have some bruises now, but other than that…”

Iris laughed and hugged him again, her hair tickling his neck. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said against his neck.

Barry would have been more than content to keep hugging her - he owed her nine months worth of hugs, after all - but he felt Len shifting restlessly and gently maneuvered out of her arms. He shot a wry smile in Len’s direction, and Len smirked back at him, clearly not at all ashamed of himself.

“We’re gonna have to cut back on the hugging, Iris; Len’s getting a little jealous.”

“Ah, I can take him,” Iris said, and to Barry’s great astonishment, she actually smiled at Leonard. “He was the first to know you were back; he can’t begrudge me a few hugs. Right, Leonard?”

“Guess so,” Len said.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but then caught herself. “God, I’d better get back to work. I’m sorry, Barry, I’d clock off early, but it’s been crazy round here the past few weeks and I really need the cash.” She turned to face Len. “We need a catch up, all three of us. Can you guys make it for dinner tonight? Seven-thirty? My Dad’s making meatballs.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Len said, with a quite frankly astonishing lack of sarcasm.

“Better not.” Iris threw herself at Barry for one last hug. “God, I missed you, Barry.” Stepping back, she gave him a stern look. “Seven-thirty.” Then she was hurrying back to the counter, a huge smile on her face.

Barry stared at Len in complete and utter bewilderment. Raising an eyebrow, Len steered him out of Jitters and back onto the street, and when it became clear that Barry was too stunned to do anything sensible, he started marching them back down the road in the direction of the CCPD.

“Wait, wait, back up,” Barry said, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk. “What was that?”

Smartly pulling him to the side and out of people’s way, Len said, “I believe it was a dinner invitation.”

“You and Iris? Talking? Without yelling at each other? You hate each other!”

“It’s been nine months, Barry. Things change.”

“Not that much!”

Len shrugged. “Standing over your bedside was a good bonding experience. Took her a few weeks to figure out that I actually cared and that I wasn’t going anywhere, and a few more weeks of arguing over your bedside, but eventually we agreed that on the off-chance you could actually hear us, you wouldn’t want to listen to us arguing. We made more of an effort to be civil after that.”

“That didn’t sound like civil,” Barry said. “That sounded like...friendly.”

“We get along. We won’t be making each other friendship bracelets any time soon, but…”

“Wow,” said Barry. “You and Iris...friends.” A horrifying thought suddenly struck him. “You aren’t friends with Joe, are you?”

Len snorted. “I’d say he’s slightly less inclined to shoot me on sight, but other than that I can’t say much has improved there. Seeing each other by your hospital bed every day wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us.”

“Oh, thank God. I don’t think I could handle you and Joe being friends. That would be just too weird.”

When they reached the CCPD building, Len let go of Barry's hand. Confused, Barry turned around.

"Aren't you coming with me?"  
  
"I've seen enough of Joe over the last few months to last me a lifetime. I'll wait here." He folded his arms. "But if I see a single cloud gather above that building, I swear to God I will be up there so fast - "  
  
"Relax," Barry said, grinning. "I think I can manage without you for five minutes."  
  
"Doubtful," Len said, and leaned across to kiss him. "Don't be too long."  
  
"I won't," Barry promised.  
  
He met at least three people he knew before he'd even made it into the building, and two more in the elevator. There were several new faces, which was surprising but also a slight cause for worry - they couldn't have replaced him, could they? Of course they'd have needed someone to fill in, but after nine months did he still have a job to go to? Anxiety twisted in his stomach until he stepped out of the elevator into a sea of friendly faces, all of whom appeared pleased to see him.  
  
After enduring several minutes of jokes, enquiries as to his well-being and cheerful punches to the arm, Barry said, "Hey, has anyone seen Joe?"  
  
"Yeah, he's in a meeting with Singh," said Eddie. "Hey Barry, uh. I'm really glad you're back."  
  
"Thanks, Eddie," Barry said. Was it his imagination, or did Eddie look kind of shifty? Shrugging it off, he headed for Singh's office.  
  
Ordinarily Barry would never have dared to interrupt one of Singh's meetings, but he figured these were extenuating circumstances. He could see Singh, and the back of Joe's head, through the blinds. Fighting off a grin, Barry knocked twice and opened the door.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, Captain."  
  
Joe twisted around in his chair, mouth open. "Barry!" 

He leaped at Barry and hugged him, hard. Beaming, Barry patted him on the back.

"It's good to see you, Joe."  
  
"When did you wake up?"  
  
"Couple hours ago. I had to stick around at S.T.A.R Labs for a few tests," Barry lied. He sensed it wouldn't go down too well if he admitted he'd gone round to see Leonard before Joe and Iris.  
  
"And? Everything okay?"  
  
"Everything is great," Barry beamed. "I'm in perfect health. Never been better." All of a sudden he realised that he was in Singh's office. Nervously, he stepped back. "Uh. Captain."  
  
"Allen," Singh said, and he stepped forward and hugged him. 

Astonished, Barry stood and stared over Singh’s shoulder at Joe, who looked just as perplexed as he did. He hadn't decided whether he ought to hug back or whether that was taking it too far when Singh stepped back and looked him up and down, one hand still resting on his shoulder. Privately, Barry thought it was a very good idea Len hadn't come with him. He might have interpreted something else in that look.

"It's good to have you back," Singh said. "I expect you'll want your job back."  
  
"Yes please," Barry said. "If I can still have it."  
  
Singh nodded. "You can have two weeks of compassionate leave to acclimatise. I expect you have a lot of catching up to do. After that I expect to see you at your desk bright and early the following Monday morning. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Yes sir," Barry said. "Thank you."  
  
"Don't mention it. You can go, both of you."  
  
Barry and Joe headed for the door.  
  
"Oh, and Allen," Singh called.  
  
Barry looked back.  
  
"Try not to get hit by lightning again. It plays hell with our health and safety record."  
  
"No sir," Barry promised. "I won't."

  
  
~*~

  
  
"My God Barry, you gave us all a scare," said Joe when they were safely out of the office. "How'd S.T.A.R Labs manage to wake you up?"  
  
Barry opted for the simplest answer: "Lady Gaga."  
  
Joe's eyebrows flew up. "You know what, I'm not even gonna ask. As long as you're okay. You and I have a hell of a lot of catching up to do."  
  
"Oh, yeah," Barry agreed. "Iris invited us round for dinner tonight, I hope that's okay."  
  
"Of course, Barr, you're always welcome." Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Wait. Who's 'us'?"  
  
Bracing himself for a fight, Barry said, "Me... and Leonard."  
  
Joe scowled. "I was afraid you'd say that." He sighed. "For your sake, I'll try not to shoot him."  
  
"Thanks, Joe."  
  
"But remember," Joe warned, "I said _try_."

“I appreciate the warning,” said Barry. “I’ll warn him to be on his best behaviour.”

“I’ll make sure to tie down all the silverware.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say. Look, I’d better be off, he’s waiting for me. But I’ll see you tonight - I promise.”

“You’d better. Tell Leonard he’d better watch you like a hawk. If you get so much as a splinter on his watch, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Trust me, Len’s never letting me out of his sight again,” said Barry. “If there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that I’m safer now than I’ve ever been.”  


~*~

  
That evening, curled up with Len on Joe's couch, Barry decided that life couldn't possibly get any sweeter.  
  
Dinner had gone astonishingly well. Aside from snarking at each other at every opportunity, Joe and Len had miraculously managed to get along. Despite what Len said, he and Iris actually appeared to be friends. And they all orbited around Barry, filling him in on the nine months he'd missed. Everyone wanted to hug him, Len especially. The older man seemed to view every second spent not touching Barry as a moment wasted. Joe didn't like that much, but he had the good grace not to complain about it.  
  
Now, full and happy, Barry lay with his head in Len's lap, the older man running his fingers through Barry's hair while Barry wriggled like a cat. Iris was on her computer, tapping away at some article. Joe alternated between writing a report and staring into space. It was, Barry reflected, a perfect evening.  
  
"Hey," Len murmured, leaning down a little. "How much do you wanna bet that Joe's plotting to shoot me within the next half hour?"  
  
"Len," Barry scolded. "Behave."  
  
"Can't and won't. Anyway, you love me."  
  
"I do," Barry agreed, and pushed himself up on one elbow to kiss him.  
  
He'd intended it to be fairly chaste, but Len wasn't in that kind of mood and Barry's body was touch-starved enough to rebel against him. The kiss deepened immediately, Barry's fingers finding Len's face.  
  
A loud crack made them both jump. Barry looked wildly around for the source of the noise and then his gaze fell upon Joe, who was looking distinctly unimpressed. His hands were together; Barry realised he had clapped to startle them.  
  
"You know the rules, Barr. No making out on my couch."  
  
"Aww, c'mon, Joe."  
  
"Don't you 'c'mon, Joe' me, those have been the rules since both you _and_ Iris brought home your first boyfriends, and I'm sticking to 'em." 

A number of potential arguments sprung to mind; the first being that Barry (and judging by the sudden innocent expression on her face, Iris too) had never stuck to that rule in the first place. The second argument was that he was a grown man, and the third that since he no longer lived here, the rules kind of didn't apply to him any more.  
  
He settled for, "I was in a coma!"  
  
"Don't think I'm gonna let you get away with whatever you want because of that," Joe warned. "Coma or no coma, no making out on my couch."  
  
Len was smirking, either at Barry being treated like a naughty child (likely) or because he had every intention of breaking that rule right there and then (even more likely.) In order to avoid further bloodshed, Barry said, "In that case I think we'll get going. It's been kind of a long day, I think we're gonna get an early night."  
Alarmed, Joe said, "Whoa, wait, you don't have to be so hasty, Barr. None of us have seen you in nine months; you've spent enough time sleeping. Don't you wanna stick around a little longer?"  
  
"Well, I guess..."  
  
"In fact, you might as well stay the night," Joe said. We can fix up your old room... and the, uh...spare, for Leonard."  
  
Barry raised his eyebrows, suddenly realising what all this was about. "Joe, uh... are you trying to protect my virtue?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous!" Joe huffed, refusing to make eye contact.  


Len barked a laugh.  


Even Barry had to hide a smile as he said, "Joe, you know Leonard and I have already had sex, right? Like...more than once."

"And that's just today," Len said, smirking.  
  
"Len," hissed Barry.  
  
Len shrugged and mimed zipping up his lips, but he was still visibly smirking.  
  
"I do not wanna know," Joe said firmly. "What you do under your own roof is your business. Under mine, on the other hand..."  
  
"Which is why we should probably be leaving," Len interrupted, smiling widely. "Barry gets a little tetchy if you let him get too wound up. He's a beast."  
  
Iris choked. Barry blushed furiously; Joe looked longingly towards the hallway, where his gun was hanging up.

“Right,” Barry said hastily. “Well on that note…”

He started hurrying around the living room, gathering up stuff. Joe had filled a tupperware dish with meatballs for them to take home, which Barry retrieved; he’d also bought a bottle of wine to celebrate Barry waking up. After some deliberation, Barry decided to take that too. Meanwhile, Len stood smirking at Joe with his hands in his pockets, clearly begging Joe to shoot him. He looked damn good doing it, but somehow Barry didn’t think Joe would appreciate the aesthetics of Len’s most smug expression. Slipping his arm through Leonard’s, he leaned into him lovingly, and very deliberately trod on his foot at the same time.

The smile didn’t leave Len’s face; if anything, it only widened. Stifling a sigh, Barry said, “I’ll call you guys tomorrow, okay? I love you.”

“We love you too, Barry,” Iris said, and she hurried over to give him a good long hug. 

It was when she turned and kissed him on the cheek that Barry was really taken by surprise; he reached up to touch the place her lips had touched. By his side, Leonard glared.

“Relax, Leonard,” Iris said, rolling her eyes at him. “I’m done, okay?”

“I’m a little protective at the moment,” Len said coolly. “You’ll have to forgive me.”

“ _I_ don’t forgive you,” Joe said, and he elbowed Len out of the way to give Barry a hug, too. “Listen, Barr, Iris and I were thinking about having a little get-together soon, something to celebrate you waking up. Nothing huge, but a bit of a party, just so everyone can catch up. We’ll sort out the venue and all that nonsense, all you have to do is compile a guest list. You think you can do that?”

“I’d love to,” Barry said.

“Alright, I’m done playing nice, let’s move out,” Len said loudly.

“I will shoot you, Snart.”

“So you keep saying, but I’ve yet to see any evidence of you doing so. You gonna put your money where your mouth is?”

“Okay, we’re going,” Barry said, and he steered Len out through the front door.

As they walked home, their breathing misted the air. Len kept a tight grip on Barry’s arm, while Barry shivered slightly against the cold, wishing he’d brought a better jacket. There was something magical about the marmalade glow of the streetlights, the muffled quiet of the suburbs so late at night. He felt like he’d stepped into another world.

“I wish you wouldn’t provoke him,” he said as they walked.

Len waved a hand dismissively. “It’s all fun and games, Barry; if he was going to shoot me he’d have done it by now. Besides, I thought you didn’t want us to be friends.”

“I don’t, but I also don’t want him begging me to dump you every night for the next six months.”

Turning a cool gaze on him, Len said, “I’d hope you have no intention of breaking up with me anyway, so what difference does it make?”

“Well, what if I started provoking Mick?”

“Please, if you pissed off Mick I’d be scraping you off the sidewalk.” Suddenly, Len stopped, pulling Barry against him. “It’s beautiful tonight.”

Thoughtfully, Barry looked up at the sky. It was a gorgeous night; the moon hung over them, all the stars dancing above with not a cloud in sight. A light breeze ruffled his hair, while the moonlight and the street lamps paved the streets in silver and gold.

“The perfect night to have you back,” Len murmured into his ear.

Smiling softly, Barry leaned into him and thought that it was possibly the most beautiful night in all of human history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright guys, gals and non-binary pals, fasten your seatbelts, cos it's gonna be a bumpy ride!!
> 
> i first started working on this fic in august 2016. it's been nearly two years, four nanowrimo events, and a whole lot of persistence, but i finally finished it. aside from minor edits and filling in the odd gap here and there which i'm sure i've generously left myself somewhere along the line, it is done and dusted - which means i can absolutely promise this fic will be uploaded in its entirety at some point.
> 
> my initial plan was to upload the whole thing in one go, but i decided to update chapter by chapter mainly to give myself a chance to edit as i go, and also because there are some great cliffhangers which i can't wait to unleash upon you all, >:) 
> 
> in answer to any potential questions: i have no idea how long this fic actually is. it's spread across half a dozen google docs and was largely written out of order, and as a result i lost count of the number of chapters a long time ago, let alone the overall word count. all i can say is, it's LONG. 
> 
> im super excited to finally share this all with you all :D thanks to everyone who commented on previous instalments, and im so very sorry this has taken as long as it has - but as promised, if any of you are still here... i finally did it!!


	2. Chapter 2

They lived in their own little world for several days after that; a world uninterrupted by menial tasks like work or grocery shopping or even leaving the apartment. The first day after Barry woke, they only left their bed for food and bathroom breaks; Len was taking Barry’s new six-pack as a personal insult and cooking as much food as possible to try and rectify it. Barry had kind of expected his stomach to have shrunk after nine months of being fed by tube, but to his astonishment he was hungrier than he’d ever been and put away everything Len could throw at him.

The days following that were occupied in just spending time together. They lay together just talking, Len catching Barry up on everything he’d missed during the long months of his absence, although he didn’t go into much detail about what he himself had been doing. Barry suspected it was a difficult subject and didn’t attempt to force the issue, although he would admit to a certain level of curiosity. When they weren’t talking, Barry was catching up on nine months worth of TV while Len gamely sat through re-runs of shows he’d already watched; when he got too antsy, he cleaned the house or took a shower or messed around on his phone, but he never went longer than half an hour or so without checking in - poking his head around the door, or calling Barry’s name, or coming back to his side. It was as if he was afraid that Barry might vanish if he were left for too long. Barry didn’t mind.

They played board games and cards, Barry teaching Len all of the tricks he’d learnt from his dad. Visiting Barry’s dad was also high on his list of priorities; they took the bus down to Iron Heights and Henry cried tears of joy with his hand pressed against the glass when he saw his son waiting eagerly on the other side. In the evenings, Len would read with Barry’s head in his lap as the kid just dozed, or watched TV with the sound turned low.

And, of course, they had nine months worth of sex to catch up on. Barry’s libido was in overdrive and Len was all too happy to indulge him, until they were both a sweaty, sated mess of limbs lying tangled together in the bed. Life couldn’t have been sweeter.

Their perfect soap bubble popped for the first time on the fifth day of Barry’s return. Len was cleaning up after dinner - with no small amount of reluctance - while Barry sat in the living room, chewing his pen as he attempted to write a guest list for the party that Joe and Iris wanted to throw. It had seemed an easy task when he’d agreed to it, but now there seemed to be an insurmountable number of people he could invite and a whole list of reasons why he shouldn’t, why they might not want to come, why it would be rude not to invite them anyway. It was starting to give him a headache.

“Do you want me to invite Mick?” he called. “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.” Or make everybody else uncomfortable. Mick was hardly an ideal guest.

“You’ll have to, unless you want me to go totally crazy and trash the place,” Len said, emerging from the kitchen with his jacket on. “I can only handle so much domesticity. Sausage rolls and vol-au-vents with all your CCPD buddies might send me a little crazy if I don’t have a few reprobates around me to even the stakes.”

“Just promise not to trash the venue,” Barry said, and he dutifully added Mick’s name to his list. Then, he frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”

Len visibly hesitated. Then, with the air of a man admitting to something rather unpleasant, he said, “I got a job.”

“You did?” Barry leaped up. “Leonard! That’s amazing! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, oh my God. I’m so proud of you!” He hurried across the room and put his arms around Len, who looked kind of uncomfortable about the attention. Barry kissed him on the cheek. “That’s so awesome,” he said. “We should celebrate.”

“Celebrate a job I got over six months ago?”

Barry shrugged. “Sure, why not? I missed it, right? Any excuse, you know me. What kind of job is it anyway?”

“I’m a janitor,” Len said. “It isn’t glamorous, but it pays the bills. I just ought to forewarn you that it isn’t exactly a nine til five kind of job. I keep weird hours, and they’re kind of inconsistent. It’s contract work, so there can be a lot of travelling involved… what I’m trying to say is, I might not always be around, I might have to go to work on short notice and I’ll be keeping pretty unseasonable hours.”

“That’s cool, it’s not like my job has the greatest hours either. People don’t always die at a reasonable hour.” Barry grinned. “Aw, Len, this has made my day. I’m going to bake you a cake.”

Len clutched his chest in mock horror. “Oh, God, not a cake. Anything but a cake!”

“Too late,” Barry told him. “I’m making a cake.” He kissed him on the cheek again. “Anyway, quit stalling, mister! You’re gonna be late for work!"

It sent a rush of pleasure through him to be able to say that. Being unemployed had always been a sore point for Len; he was cagey about what kind of jobs he’d had before and all of his job searches in the past had seemed to go nowhere. He’d spent hours traipsing around the city applying for anything and everything and been turned down every single time. It had been disheartening for both of them, and it had sometimes made Len grouchy - or rather, _more_ grouchy. Barry didn’t mind contributing a little extra to the rent sometimes, but he knew being able to pay his way had to be a weight of Len’s shoulders.

“Yes, boss,” Len said mockingly. He drew Barry in for a kiss, and not a short one either. It lingered, both of them taking their time. When he drew away, it was with no small amount of reluctance. “I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up for me.”

“No promises,” Barry said, curling back up on the couch. “Have fun!”

“Oh,” Len said with a smirk, “I will.”

 

~*~

 

He walked several blocks at a casual pace, his jacket on and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Every couple of minutes he’d make a turning, or cross the road and take a good long look up and down the street to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Then, a dingy white van pulled up beside him, and Len looked both ways before opening the door and getting in. Mick pulled away again immediately, not even waiting for Len to fasten his seatbelt before the vehicle was moving, heading down a side-road. Len slung the duffel into the back and unfastened his jacket, lounging back against the tatty upholstery.

“So?” Mick said eventually, when they were pulled up at a red light. “How is he?”

Len took a moment to picture Barry - not weak and wan, not lying in a hospital bed wired up to machines and tubes. Barry on top of him, naked and beaming. Barry beating him at cards, his forehead creased with concentration. Barry laughing at some ridiculousness on TV; Barry stuffing his face with Len’s cooking; Barry sleepy and wide awake, Barry in the shower and in the kitchen and waking up in the morning the moment Len laid a hand on his arm - conscious, aware, and so goddamn beautiful.

He wasn’t usually the soppy type, especially not in front of Mick, but Len couldn’t help the smile that sprawled across his face. “He’s… good.”

Mick grunted. The lights changed, and the van started moving again. “No permanent damage?”

“Haven’t noticed any. Actually, he has abs now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Mick said, “Sounds like bull.”

“Seeing is believing. I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes.”

“So he’s back, and everything’s back to normal. White picket fence, happy families with the in-laws and playing board games of an evening. All that bullshit.”

Len didn’t like his tone. “What’s your point, Mick?”

Mick turned away from the road to look him straight in the face. “My point is, where does this leave you and me?”

“Don’t know yet.”

With an irritable noise, Mick turned down a small side-road, parked as far away from any of the streetlights as he could get. He killed the lights and the engine, and all of a sudden they were plunged into darkness and all Len could see was a slice of his partner’s face illuminated by the faraway light of the main road. It was not a happy-looking slice.

“No offence, Snart, but these past nine months have been pretty damn good for me. I got my partner back. I know it’s sucked for you, having the kid out cold like that, but for me? Things worked out pretty damn good. We’ve done some good jobs. Stealing shit, it’s what we’re good at. Not playing domestic.”

“You were the one telling me to stay with him after he got hit by lightning.”

“And all of a sudden he’s awake and I’m about to lose my partner again. I’m not so keen on that plan as I was.” Mick folded his arms. “If you’re gonna bail on me, fine. I might as well go and find myself another partner. But if you’re gonna bail, you bail. Don’t come running back to me every time you get bored of domestic bliss and fancy getting into a fight. It’s all or nothing, Snart.”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty,” Len said. “Who said anything about bailing?”

Mick’s brow furrowed. “You’re gonna keep being a crook? Running jobs? Even now Barry’s back?”

“These past nine months have been the worst of my life. Getting the shit kicked out of me every day in juvie? Whatever. Living with my dear old dad, I could handle it. Nine months with Barry in a coma and I don’t think I’ve ever felt as terrible in my entire life. But if there’s one thing nine months have taught me, it’s that I missed this. Stealing. Running jobs, being beyond the law. It’s what I was made for, and for the past nine months it’s what’s kept me sane - and rich. I’d never have paid Barry’s medical bills on a janitor’s salary.”

“Your point being?”

“My point being I’m still in,” Len said.

“You’re forgetting the small fact that your boyfriend just so happens to be part of the CCPD. His step-dad’s on the force, and he’s dropped more than a few hints that he knows exactly what we’re up to. Barry’s a good little cop - you really think he won’t run straight to the police if he finds out how you’re paying your share of the rent?”

“What Barry doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Len said irritably, “and he might be a good little cop, but he’s a good little sap on top of that, and he thinks the sun shines out of my ass. I told him I had a job with anti-social hours and he bought it, now do you want me in, or not? Because it seems like you’re trying to talk me out of it.”

“I just wanna make sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for,” Mick said. “You sure you’re ready to balance your happy life with Barry with a life on the run from the police and a bunch of felonies under your belt?”

Len looked away, staring straight ahead through the windshield. “I’m ready.”

 

~*~

 

Sighing, Barry dropped his pen onto the table and flopped back onto the sofa. Having made a list of all the people he knew - and it had been a ridiculously long list; he seriously needed to stop meeting people - he had separated it into categories: people he definitely wanted there, people he probably ought to invite, and people he really didn’t want to come but felt obligated to invite anyway. Then, he’d rewritten it, colour coding each category, and added about ten more people to each list as he remembered a bunch of other people he hadn’t thought about.

God, he was bored.

He had to admit, he’d grown used to Len always being around of an evening to entertain him. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself when the house was empty. The apartment’s creaks and whooshes, which usually soothed him, were putting him on edge. And even worse than that was the lack of noise. Len wasn’t loud, but Barry was always aware of him, even if it was just the sound of him padding through the house or coughing every now and then.

“I need a hobby,” he said to himself.

It wasn’t as if there weren’t things he _could_ be doing. For one, there were several dozen TV shows he needed to catch up on. But that idea had its flaws - if he started, he probably wouldn’t stop, and starting a massive binge of more than fourteen different shows the week before he went back to work was a bad idea. Before he knew it, he’d be staying up all night to watch just one more episode - and then another eight - and staggering into Singh’s office on his first morning back with a glazed look and a coffee cup clenched in his hand. Not a great impression to make on his first day back.

Then it occurred to him that maybe it was being cooped up in the house that was giving him this itchy feeling. The best way he could describe how he felt right now would be antsy - like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. There was a ridiculous amount of energy buzzing through him that needed to be worked off, and he and Len had been stuck in their own little bubble for the past week, leaving the house only a handful of times, once for grocery shopping and once to visit Barry’s dad. He needed a change of scenery.

He decided to go for a walk. Not just a wander round the block - a proper walk, right round the city. It had been ages since he’d seen Central City at night, aside from that short walk between Joe’s place and their apartment the other night. Cheered by this idea, he flipped over his list and scribbled a short note to Leonard on the back of it. Not that he expected Len to be back from work before he got back, but he didn’t want to risk Len coming back and freaking out if he was still gone.

Then he threw on a jacket and went out.

As soon as he was outside, he felt better. The evening was cool, the air in his lungs crisp and satisfying, like the first bite of an apple. Hands in his pockets, Barry walked, relishing the little sensations that once upon a time he wouldn’t have thought twice about. The wind playing with his hair and biting at his cheeks. The crunch of leaves and gravel underneath his feet. The faraway sound of traffic in the city’s busier areas - siren calls drifting on the breeze, music playing in the distance, the bass thudding. Once upon a time these things might not have seemed beautiful, but being hit by lightning, Barry figured, gave you a unique perspective on things.

He’d been walking for about an hour when he decided to take a break, sitting down on a bench by the side of the road. At this time of night there weren’t many cars so far out from the city centre, and even fewer people, but the people who were out interested him. What were their stories, he wondered. Who was the teenage girl walking along the street absorbed in her phone, with a happy grin on her face? Why was the old man walking his dog out so late at night? There was a couple just turning the corner, vanishing from sight, completely absorbed in each other, and Barry couldn’t help wondering how they’d met and what had caused them to be out so late at night, and whether they’d even noticed the time.

There were so many questions buzzing around his head and so many people to observe that he almost didn’t notice the businessman who was about to cross the road.

He wore a pinstriped suit and shoes that shone, visible even from where Barry was seated at least a hundred feet away. Frowning at his phone - a Blackberry, god, who even had a Blackberry these days - he tapped away at the keys. Probably arranging some kind of meeting. Without looking up from the screen, the guy lifted his foot in preparation to step into the road.

Barry heard the car engine before he saw the flash of the headlights in the corner of his eye.

The car was heading straight for the guy in the pinstriped suit, who still hadn’t noticed, and was still midway through stepping into the road.

Things became very clear to Barry, then. The car was moving way too fast; in less than two seconds the businessman would be too far into the road to stop, the car too close to keep from hitting him. At the speed it was going, in less than two seconds, the man in the pinstriped suit would be dead.

Time seemed to have slowed down. The world moved around Barry like water, as if he were wading through it. He launched himself off the bench, towards the man, whose foot was just about to touch the ground. His head was tilted slightly, a frown etched across his face as he began to turn towards the car. Not fast enough to react, to keep it from killing him.

Barry slammed into the man, knocking him sideways. They hit the sidewalk with a bang, pain lancing through the hand Barry had thrown out to catch his fall. The breath was knocked out of him. Gasping, he lay on the ground, one arm still around the man in the pinstriped suit.

The car zoomed past, so close that Barry could feel the heat coming off the engine - and definitely close enough to hear the horn blaring as the driver expressed their displeasure at the near miss. Hissing, Barry attempted to cover his ears. He’d grazed his palm; it was bleeding, with little flecks of gravel sticking to it. Grimacing, he attempted to brush some of the dirt off, and that was when he got an angry shove.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man demanded.

“What?” Barry said disbelievingly.

The man was struggling to his feet, one hand still clamped around his phone. He elbowed Barry as he got up, and didn’t seem to be at all sorry about it. Aggrieved, he dusted down his now rather rumpled suit.

“Watch where you’re going!”

This was so unfair, and also so hypocritical, that Barry almost lost his temper and pushed the guy straight back into the road again. “ _Me_ watch where _I’m_ going? That car almost hit you!”

The man sniffed. “Well that’s what happens when some idiot almost pushes you into the road.”

“I saved your life!”

The man did not even dignify that statement with a response. With a parting sneer, he turned away and crossed the road - without looking both ways. Unbelievable.

Barry stared at the guy’s back as he stalked off, his hands clenched into fists. His hand ached. All of a sudden he felt very cold. It took him only a few more seconds to realise that he was going into shock. He had the presence of mind to stagger over to the bench that he had vacated less than thirty seconds previously, and put his head between his knees, before he lost it completely and sat there shaking like a leaf.

He had just done something impossible.

The bench where he’d been sitting was at least thirty feet away from the side of the road, and the man had been already stepping into the road when Barry had spotted the car. Even if Barry had been right beside him, he would have been hard pressed to get him out of the way in time - and he’d hit him at some force, knocked him right over. In order to have done that, he must have got up off the bench, ran over to where the man was and knocked him out of harm’s way in less than a second.

Dizzily, Barry breathed out. Then in again.

Shaking violently, Barry tried and failed to get a grip on himself. He'd just saved a man's life. Raced across from a bench to grab him from an impossible distance.   
  
_I must be going crazy_ , Barry thought. He wasn't sure whether to be comforted or worried by this idea. _The stress of coming out of a coma must’ve made me lose it._   
  
When he felt confident that he could stand up without vomiting or passing out, he got gingerly to his feet. He walked over to the spot where he and the businessman had been standing and looked back at the bench. It wasn't possible for him to have crossed that distance in the time he had.   
  
Just to test this theory, he jogged back to the bench, and then ran back to the road again. He did this a few times, increasing in speed. Even running, he couldn't possibly have made it. Possibly he could have put it down to some freak adrenaline thing, but it was just too improbable. 

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he had been at the man's side and he had come so close to death that his brain was having a meltdown, desperately trying to reconcile itself with the idea of being alive, convincing him that he'd never been in any danger.

But it had felt so _real_ . 

He decided on one last attempt, just to test it. Just to make sure. Slowly walking back to the bench, he crouched, getting into a runner's stance. He felt ridiculous - probably looked it, too, if anyone had stopped to watch some random guy running back and forth along the sidewalk - but that didn't matter. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to summon that same feeling he'd felt when he rescued the man in the pinstriped suit. Cold horror, his heart beating painfully fast - and at the same time a deep sense of determination, because he couldn't just watch this happen in front of him.

He ran.

It was the craziest sensation. The world around him was moving at ordinary speed, but he shot across the road like a bullet, badly misjudging the distance, his feet flying across the tarmac. The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he realised he was making a beeline for a row of -  
  
Barry slammed into the trash-cans and ricocheted off with a bang. He hit the floor, rolled several feet and came to a stunned stop, having had the breath knocked out of him for the second time that night. For a while, he just lay there dizzily, breathing in the smell of trash. He'd knocked several of the cans over, their contents spilling onto the ground; an eclectic mix of banana skins, dirty tin cans and something that smelled suspiciously like used diapers.   
  
It was this foul stench that finally inspired him to move. Groaning,he sat up and put a hand to his head. He probed tentatively, feeling a slight swelling already starting to form. No blood, but almost certainly bruising. How the hell was he going to explain to Len that he had just happened to run full pelt into a row of trash-cans and not managed to stop himself in time?   
  
Grimly, he did an inventory of the rest of his injuries. His grazed hand was throbbing again, his hip was complaining about hitting the floor for the second time that night and he suspected that underneath the dirty knees of his jeans he didn't have a lot of skin left. He'd probably bruised something - or several somethings - when he fell. But he could stand, and with some discomfort, he could also walk. He did so - but slowly. Like an old man with rheumatism. He didn't want to risk moving too quickly in case he ended up running into something else.

As he walked, he came to the realisation that whatever was going on, he needed to deal with it. He couldn't just spend the rest of his life terrified that he was going to break into a sprint and go careening into things every time he broke into a run. Barry was constantly late; he was always running.   
  
He'd have to ask Doctor Wells, he decided. S.T.A.R Labs had been monitoring him for months; something must have shown up on their test results that would explain this. And if not...well. Maybe Caitlin could give him a psych evaluation. Barry didn't trust psychiatrists as a general rule, but Caitlin was his friend. If she told him he was crazy, at least she'd let him down gently.   
  
It took him twice as long to get back to the apartment as it had to get away from it and by the time he was home, he was shaking with cold. Pulling his and Len's duvet off the bed, he swaddled himself in it, sat on the sofa and busied himself with methodically shredding his note into strips. He didn't fancy facing any questions about how his walk went. Barry was a world-renowned bad liar.   
  
Several minutes later, whilst moodily tearing up what was left of his note, he remembered that his guest list for the party was written on the back of it and started swearing. After that, he just sat hunched up on the couch, trying desperately not to think. Trying not to imagine the feel of the wind in his hair and his feet flying across the ground.   
  
Trying to forget that just for a split second, before he hit those garbage cans, it had felt like he was flying.

 

~*~

  
Len let himself into the apartment as quietly as possible, but a dark shape on the sofa gave him pause. Frowning, he flipped the light switch.   
  
Barry was curled up on the sofa, wrapped up in their duvet with only his head poking out. He'd fallen asleep with a faint frown on his face, leaning sideways a little. Len couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.   
  
Going over to the couch, Len shifted the duvet out of his way and gently put a hand on Barry's shoulder. He kept the touch light - these days, Barry wasn't a heavy sleeper - but the cold of his hands must have seeped through the fabric of Barry's shirt. Moaning, Barry turned his head and tried feebly to push Len away.   
  
"I told you not to wait up for me," Len reminded him.  
  
"Mm...guilty," Barry admitted, rubbing his eyes. "How did work go?" He yawned.  
  
"Nothing to report," Len assured him. "Come on, Barr, let's get to bed."   
  
Barry sleepily got up off the sofa, the duvet wrapped around him like a cape, and tottered off to the bedroom. Smirking, Len followed him. By the time he got there, Barry had collapsed fully clothed onto the bed, the duvet only half covering him. At least he wasn't wearing any shoes.   
  
Len took off his own clothes, and made some attempt to remove Barry's before he gave it up as a bad job and just unfastened all of the buttons instead. Dead to the world, Barry didn't seem to notice - but he did notice when Len got into bed with him, and he pressed the tip of his cold nose against Len's neck. 

"I love you," Barry mumbled. "I've always loved you."  
  
"And I love you too, Barry," Len promised. "Now get some sleep. I'm here."   
  
Barry mumbled and rolled over, leaving Len to smirk and turn off the light.   
  
It was a good job that he hadn't been more successful in undressing Barry, in the end. If he had he might have spotted what was left of the abrasions and bruises on Barry’s body. The ones which were already fading away.

 

~*~

The other side of the bed was empty when Len woke up the next morning. Alarmed, he groped around, then sat bolt upright, feeling a spike of panic.

A clatter from the kitchen made him immediately relax. He shook his head, threw back the covers and prepared to get up. Only Barry was capable of making quite that amount of noise so early in the morning. No burglar would be so incompetent.

When he got into the kitchen, he found Barry frying bacon, with half a bacon sandwich already in his mouth. Judging by the open packet on the counter, it wasn’t his first. Len made a beeline for the coffee maker.

“You’re up early,” he remarked.

Barry made some reply, his cheeks bulging. Crumbs sprayed everywhere and whatever he said was intelligible. Len raised his eyebrows disdainfully and waited.

Somehow managing to swallow his entire mouthful in one go, Barry said, “I’m starving.”

Usually Len didn’t eat breakfast, just downed copious amounts of coffee in the mornings, but the bacon smelled incredible. His stomach gave an incredibly obvious rumble.

Barry turned back to the frying pan, eased the bacon out with a spatula and slid the rashers onto a bun that was already buttered and waiting. He sliced it in half, and then offered the plate to Len.

Gratefully, he took one half and sank his teeth into it. It was surprisingly good, the bacon just perfectly crispy. Barry finished his first sandwich and immediately started on the second. The two of them stood there chewing companionably, Len occasionally taking sips of his coffee.

“So what’s the occasion?” Len asked. “Aside from being hungry, I mean.”

They had spent a lot of their time undressed over the past week; when they weren’t going out there seemed little point in making more laundry. For the most part, Barry had been wandering around in his underwear, maybe a pair of jeans on chillier days, and not much else. Once or twice he’d donned an oversized sweater to spend the day in with nothing underneath it, an aesthetic that Len was particularly fond of. But today he was fully dressed, matching socks and all, and he smelled like he’d not long jumped out of the shower either.

“I’m heading over to S.T.A.R Labs,” Barry said, half-heartedly scrubbing the frying pan.

Len felt a cold fist close around his heart. “What?”

“I ran out on them after I woke up, it was pretty rude of me. Caitlin and Cisco have been texting me all week begging me to come round, they’d like to run a few more tests. And I have a few things I’d like to ask Doctor Wells.” Barry frowned. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“No.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Barry asked, immediately dropping the dishcloth and hurrying over.

Len put down his coffee mug before he was tempted to throw it anywhere. “You going anywhere near that sociopath is what’s wrong. Over my dead body.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not going to S.T.A.R Labs,” Len told him. “End of discussion.”

“ _Not_ end of discussion. You can’t tell me what to do like that.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

“Hey,” Barry said, and he was getting angry now. “No. You have a problem, you talk to me about it. You don’t just stand there and tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Oh, I have a problem,” Len snarled. “I have a lot of problems. One of them being the thought of you going anywhere near that asshole Wells.”

“Doctor Wells?” Barry asked, bewildered. “What’s your problem with Doctor Wells?”

“Everything he says, and everything he does, but mostly the look on his smug face every time he looked at you in that hospital bed. You being in that coma for nine months - that was his fault. You would never have been in that lab if it wasn’t for his particle accelerator, and he got to reap all the benefits.”

“Leonard, think about what you’re saying! The particle accelerator explosion was a terrible accident - ”

“And it got you right where he wanted you,” Len said coldly. “Right underneath his nose, like some kind of trophy.”

“I owe a lot to S.T.A.R Labs,” Barry said. “They took care of me.”

“In exchange for having you as a lab rat for nearly nine months. Doctor Wells is not the kind of man to do anything out of the goodness of his own heart. If you go back there, all he’ll do is hook you up to more machines, test you and experiment on you and study you for God knows what. That man took enough from us; he’s not taking any more. You are _not_ going to S.T.A.R Labs, and that’s the end of it.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not a kid who needs telling off. The more you act like a dick, the more likely it is that I’m going to go anyway!”

“I can’t lose you!” Len shouted. “What do you want from me? You want me to beg? Fine, I’ll do it. But I am not letting that man hurt you, not again.”

“Doctor Wells isn’t going to _hurt_ me.” Barry drew closer, looking at him imploringly. “Len. I need to talk to him. I’m experiencing some...side effects. The lightning hitting me might have affected me more than we realised.”

Len froze. “What side effects?”

“Nothing major,” Barry said hastily. “Just...changes. I need to talk to Doctor Wells, just to give me some peace of mind.”

“If you’re experiencing side effects then I’ll take you to the hospital. The doctors can figure it out. Real doctors.”

“Caitlin _is_ a real doctor. And she’s been studying me for months, taking readings and measurements. If I go to the hospital they’ll have to start over, and charge us a ridiculous amount of money to boot. S.T.A.R Labs already have all the data; they might already know what’s wrong.” He touched the back of Len’s hand. “And besides, I miss them, Leonard. They’re my friends. I haven’t seen them since I woke up.”

Snatching his hand away, Len said bitterly, “Fine. Go see your friends, let them poke and prod you and God knows what else. But tell Wells that if he hurts you, if he upsets you, if he even mildly irritates you then I’ll beat the hell out of him.”

Barry looked at him dejectedly. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Len said. “Do what you want. I’m meeting Mick in an hour anyway.”

He stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door for good measure. Once he was back in their bedroom, he stood breathing hard, trying to regain control of himself. It took a lot of doing, wrestling himself back under control, but when he was fairly sure he had a handle on his temper, he started to get dressed.

The worst part, he reflected, was that Barry was right. He’d spoken to him like a misbehaving child. If anyone had spoken to Len like that, he’d have knocked them from here to the end of next week and then done exactly the opposite of what they’d said, just to be a contradictory asshole. And if he replayed what he’d said, really thought about it, he’d sounded like his father.

But there was something about Doctor Wells that made him uneasy. The more time he spent around the man, the more Wells made his skin crawl. Every time he spoke, it made Len feel more and more edgy; something about the man’s voice, about the smug smile that never seemed to leave his face. He was like the cat who had the cream, the milk, maybe the entire fucking cow. Iris had once described Wells’ smile as ‘reassuring’. Len thought ‘creepy’ was more accurate. Thinking about that smile being directed at Barry made him want to hit something. Preferably Wells.

Still, his festering hatred for Wells was no excuse to be an asshole to Barry. The kid had always been in awe of Wells, something Len used to find cute; and the last Barry heard, Len was ambivalent towards the scientist. He couldn’t know that in the months he’d been unconscious, Len had seen Wells almost every day and grown to despise him, to see him as a symbol of everything he had lost. To blame him for Barry’s accident. Because he did blame him. Maybe Wells hadn’t made the lightning hit Barry, but he was the reason Barry was in that lab that night. The reason Barry was in the city, rather than back in Starling, or tucked up on the sofa with Leonard. Looking after Barry and providing his medical care was only the bare minimum Wells could have done to make up for the atrocities his particle accelerator had caused, and as Len had said, he was almost certain the man had his own reasons. He wasn’t doing it out of generosity. Not once had Len seen a scrap of true remorse on Wells’ face.

Even so. No reason to be nasty to Barry.

Len wasn’t great at apologies, but he had every intention of attempting one when he wandered back into the kitchen. Unfortunately, by that time Barry had already gone. He’d left the frying pan and plates on the draining board, folded up the tea towel and disappeared, and judging by the sudden disarray of the pile of sneakers by the door, he was already on his way to S.T.A.R Labs.

Sighing, Len took one last look around the room, wondering if Barry had left him a note. He hadn’t. Resignedly, Len grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Just as well Barry was going out today. After all, he and Mick had a heist to plan.

 

~*~

 

It was with no small amount of apprehension that Barry arrived at S.T.A.R Labs and pressed the intercom, but Cisco merely sounded thrilled at his arrival and buzzed him through immediately. Even so, Barry entered with his head down and his tail between his legs, waiting to be scolded.

There was quite the welcoming committee waiting for him in the lab. Cisco, beaming, Caitlin wearing a wan smile, and Doctor Wells… in a wheelchair.

Barry blinked. Doctor Wells was one of his idols; Barry had spent an embarrassing amount of time reading the books and papers he’d published, watching videos of his lectures and talks, poring over pictures and biographies and articles and not once was he ever aware of any mention of Wells being in a wheelchair. In the photos, he’d always stood tall. Barry had always imagined that if they ever met, he’d literally be looking up to him. To find Wells seated, with the top of his head not even level with Barry’s chest, was...disconcerting.

“Your silence speaks volumes, Mr. Allen,” Wells said, giving him the enigmatic smile that Barry was used to seeing in photos. “I take it you weren’t forewarned. The accident that left you in a coma left me without the use of my legs.”

“I - I’m sorry,” Barry said, at a complete loss for words.

Wells waved him away. “I’ve had nine months to acclimatise, and after the many tragedies the explosion caused it is probably little more than I deserve.”

Caitlin seemed to shrink in on herself a little. Barry looked at her curiously, but before he had much time to think on it, he remembered that Wells was still looking expectantly at him. He floundered desperately for some semblance of good manners.

“I wanted to apologise for running out like that when I woke up. I know you wanted to run more tests - I just really wanted to see my family.”

“Completely understandable. Am I to take it that your return indicates you’d be willing to help us with our research?”

“Oh, definitely,” Barry said. A little piece of him - okay, maybe a big piece - was inwardly geeking out. The great Doctor Wells wanted him, Barry Allen, to help with his research. Even if it was just as a lab rat, as Len had so charmingly put it, it was _Doctor Wells_. Barry was practically vibrating with excitement.

Or maybe he was just vibrating.

He was definitely vibrating. He could feel the tremors racking through him, too fast to be shivers. His whole body was shaking; he looked down at his hands and watched one of them blur in and out of focus as it quivered. Oh, God. Not now.

“Mr. Allen?”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m just a little keyed up, I think maybe you’ll have to excuse me for a second, do you guys have a bathroom?”

He was babbling, the words all running together. Caitlin moved forwards, looking concerned.

“Barry, are you okay?”

“Yep fine just need to take a second where’s the bathroom is it over there oh awesome I’ll be right - ”

Any second now they were going to notice that he was vibrating all over, making a low sound like an insect’s wings brushing together. Panic seized him. He’d wanted to sit them down and ask them questions, not stand there jittering like an idiot. He just needed a minute to get control of himself, figure out how to stop shaking. Barry made a beeline for the bathroom.

That was when he lost control completely. In his haste to reach the bathroom before they noticed anything weird, he broke into a jog. All of a sudden his feet were way too eager, and he rocketed forwards, that frightening speed snatching him forwards. The door was rushing towards him, his feet didn’t want to stop, he was running and running and oh God he was about to hit -

He slammed into it, bounced backwards and hit the floor, skidding across the ground. Groaning, he came to a stop at Doctor Wells’ feet, gazing up at him in an agonising combination of pain and embarrassment.

“Help,” he said.

 

~*~

 

“It only started last night,” he explained as Caitlin pressed the stethoscope against his chest. “I was out walking, and there was this guy about to cross the road. There was a car coming. And it was like...like time slowed down. I could see him about to step in the road, and the car about to hit him. There was no way I was close enough to do anything about it. But I did. I _ran_ , and I knocked him out of the way. I saved his life.” He shook his head in amazement. “But ever since then, it’s like I’m aware of this _thing_ inside me. I’m fast, really fast. I can feel it waiting to come out. But I can’t control it, and it just keeps bursting out of me.”

Wells watched him speculatively. Caitlin leaped back in excitement.

“This explains everything! Barry, when we thought you were going into cardiac arrest, all those times your heart seemed to stop - our equipment was at fault. Your heart didn’t stop, it was just going too quickly for the machines to register!” Her eyes were shining. “How fast can you go?”

Perplexed, Barry said, “I haven’t really tested it yet, I’ve never run more than a few meters. Does...does this mean you guys believe me?”

“Having just watched you run into a door almost too quickly for my eyes to register, Mr. Allen, I have little choice but to believe you,” said Wells. “Besides which, I did have my suspicions that something like this might have happened. All the evidence suggested that whatever hit you was no ordinary lightning.”

“Like what?”

“Like the way your muscles didn’t seem to atrophy after nine months of disuse. Like the strange readings we picked up from you - traces of dark matter in your blood which suggested you were affected not only by the lightning, but by the particle accelerator itself.” Wells surveyed him with interest. “It is gratifying to find out that I was right. Perhaps something came of the explosion that was not just pain and disaster. Perhaps, in a way, my failure was responsible for the birth of something good. Or, at the very least, something interesting.”

There was a light in Wells’ eyes - a kind of gleam. That, Barry thought, was what genius looked like. Probably.

“So,” Cisco said. “When do we start?”

He sounded almost worryingly excited. Barry turned to him. “Start what?”

Wells smiled that enigmatic smile. “I think it’s time, Barry, that we see how fast you can run.”

 

~*~

 

“I look ridiculous.”

He did, in fact, look ridiculous. Dressed in shorts that made his already skinny calves look like a pair of plucked chicken legs, a skimpy sports shirt and - worst of all - a quite frankly humiliating crash helmet, Barry didn’t think he’d ever looked more ridiculous in his life, and he’d once worked weekends at a fast food restaurant and been forced to parade up and down the sidewalk dressed like a giant hot-dog. How he had managed to stumble upon an even higher level of degradation than that, he would never know. Thank god Leonard couldn’t see him; he'd never have lived it down.

“Safety first,” Cisco said cheerfully, though Barry doubted he’d have been quite so cheerful if it was _him_ wearing this ridiculous outfit. “Don’t forget the shoes.”

Barry looked in utter dismay at the hideous sneakers they’d provided. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

“These are proper running shoes, Barry, the last thing we want is for you to twist your ankle,” Cisco said wisely.

Bidding a fond farewell to what remained of his dignity, Barry grabbed the shoes and put them on. He double-knotted the laces, then stood up and self-consciously folded his arms over his chest.

“Now what?”

They were standing in what had once presumably been a parking lot, although the paint demarcating the parking bays had long since faded away. For hundreds of metres there was nothing but smooth tarmac, with fields stretching around them as far as the eye could see. Aside from some metal cylinders grouped strategically at one end like some kind of crash barrier, there was little else to see.

Cisco and Caitlin had erected a tent and carted out a whole lot of scientific equipment down with them. Barry was fairly certain the only thing they really needed was a stop-watch, but it kept Cisco happy. He kept dancing gleefully around, tapping away at screens and talking to himself. Meanwhile, Barry was standing around in his skimpy outfit, shivering.

“Now we finish setting up,” Cisco said.

“Can I put some clothes on?” Barry asked pleadingly.

“Why bother? You’ll only be taking them off again later.”

Barry was suddenly doubly glad Len wasn’t around to hear that euphemism; he probably wouldn’t have taken it too well. Although at least he might have been able to lend Barry a jacket. Len didn’t seem to get cold, and was always happy to hand over his coat. With the goosebumps rising on his arms, Barry thought wistfully of the parka Len liked to wear. That would be extremely welcome right now.

He started wandering around, trying to keep warm. Caitlin caught his attention; he made a beeline for her. Bent over a tablet, she was frowning and tapping away at the screen. It had not escaped Barry’s notice that Caitlin’s attitude had been somewhat frosty lately; apart from occasional bursts of excitement when it came to his weird medical readings, she was uncharacteristically quiet. He wondered if she was still pissed at him for rushing off on the day he came out of the coma.

“Hey, we’re cool, right?” he asked.

“Huh?” she said without looking up.

“You and me, I mean. I noticed you’ve been pretty different, lately, and I thought maybe you were mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Barry.”

He shifted. “You sound pretty mad. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile since before the particle accelerator explosion.”

Caitlin looked up. All of a sudden, he realised he’d been wrong in thinking she was angry with him before, because now she really did look pissed and it was very clear to see that previously he hadn’t even scraped the surface.

“You’re right, I probably _haven’t_ smiled since the particle accelerator explosion. Perhaps because that was the worst night of my life and things haven’t got any better since. That explosion might have turned you into Sonic the Hedgehog, but it also killed Ronnie. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not quite as _chipper_ as you remember.”

She turned her back on him and marched away. Stricken, Barry stared after her.

Ronnie, dead? He remembered Ronnie; he hadn’t known him well, but he was a nice enough guy. Doted on Caitlin. They were one of those borderline gross couples who loved each other almost too much, the kind who made everyone else’s relationship look bad. Joined at the hip, the way Barry remembered it. Of course, lately Barry had begun to discover that very few things in his life had stayed the same as he remembered them.

“Barr, you ready?”

Cisco was waving a stopwatch at him.

“Oh, sure,” Barry said gratefully, and he headed over for where Cisco and Wells were waiting. At least _they_ didn’t seem to hate him.

A white stripe had been carefully painted on the ground in lieu of a starting line; the paint smudged slightly as Barry put his toe against it, shifting into a runner’s stance. He felt a little foolish hovering there, half crouched while Cisco fiddled with his stop-watch, still beaming like it was his birthday. Barry took a shaky breath.

“Uh. Should I go?”

“On my mark,” said Wells. “Are you ready?”

Ready? Of course he was ready. He was born ready. His stomach twisted with nerves. Oh, God. He was going to make an idiot of himself. His legs were like jelly; they were going to fail him and he would faceplant the tarmac with a splat, or else he’d start running and trip over at a hundred miles per hour, or worst of all he might not be able to stop and he’d just run and run and run until he crashed into something and they realised that somehow this life-changing had been given to an idiot.

“Go!” Wells said.

It took a split second for Barry’s brain to process the command, but his feet were way ahead of him. He _ran._

The suddenness of it took his breath away. One minute stationary, the next in motion, the world falling away and blurring around him. The wind was pinching at his face, whistling through the holes in his stupid crash helmet. Adrenaline spiked, shooting through him with a pleasurable jolt. His feet thrummed against the ground, so fast he could barely hear them, hardly felt the impact. His lungs burned in the most satisfying way. It was like being more alive, all of his senses turned up; the air suddenly more fresh, his whole body singing. He had already reached the end of the parking lot; he turned dizzyingly quickly and zipped around the perimeter, blowing past Cisco and Wells with just enough time to register the glee on Cisco’s face and the smugness on Wells’, the breeze he left in his wake whipping Cisco’s hair around his face like a halo. It was the strangest sensation; as fast as he was going, he could still see the world in near-perfect clarity if he focused, as if everything had slowed around him rather than him speeding up. It was wonderful. The rush of it made him want to go faster, to test himself. He sped up, practically flying around the perimeter four more times before he sped back to where his friends were waiting and skidded to a stop, feeling the soles of his sneakers sizzle with the heat of the friction, the grin on his face almost painfully wide.

“Dude,” Cisco complained. “You were supposed to run straight there and back! You messed up my data!” But he was grinning even harder than Barry was, stop-watch swinging from his wrist.

“That was awesome,” Barry breathed.

“Oh, yes,” Wells said, looking up at him with that secretive smile again. “Yes, it was.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely did not realise i used to write sex scenes this often. also, i used to be able to write them without feeling self-conscious apparently?? what is this wizardry? (there is gonna be a huuugely disproportionate smut ratio in this fic because i think i probably get about ten episodes in and then just go 'yep, no time for sex, PLOT THINGS ARE HAPPENING' and they never do anything again haha oops
> 
> anyway, this one has rimming so if you're not into that, you have been warned. if you wanna skip the sex, it starts at "everything still...works." and finishes at "maybe we should argue more often."

On the way home, Barry was ecstatic. For the first time in days, he didn’t feel like is skin was just a few shades too tight. For hours he’d run around the parking lot working off all of his excess energy and he hadn’t realised how tightly wound he was until he was running it off. In the end, Cisco had stopped timing him and they all just sat and watched, occasionally shouting tips, watching him get to grips with what he could do. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was actually going somewhere. All the years he’d spent running on the spot, his dad in prison, the psychiatrists thinking he was crazy, nothing he ever did making a difference. But he had superpowers now. If that wasn’t going to bring him closer to freeing his dad, what would?

It was only when his key was in the front door that his good mood faltered slightly. He and Len hadn’t parted on the best of terms. They’d left their argument hanging in the air, and Barry wasn’t too keen to pick it up where they’d left off. Not when he’d had such a good day.

Sighing, he squared his shoulders and went in.

Leonard was waiting on the couch, playing on the XBox. When Barry had brought it home all those many months ago, before his coma, Len had scoffed and said he didn’t see the point of video games - if he wanted to shoot someone and steal their car, he could go outside and do it for real. (Barry had always hoped he was joking.) 

Apparently some time in the last nine months he’d changed his mind, though, because he was playing expertly, leaning to one side as he stabbed at the controller, as if that was going to help him win. Barry didn’t want to disturb him, but he couldn’t just stand there like a creep all night.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Pausing his game, Len looked up. He scrutinised Barry for a second, then got up off the couch, crossed the room and pulled Barry down for a kiss. It was surprisingly gentle considering the acidity of their conversation earlier; Barry put his hands on Len’s waist and pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. When they parted, he breathlessly pressed his forehead to Len’s.

“Good day, I take it?” Len asked.

“Yeah,” Barry said, touching his face. There was the slightest trace of stubble on Len’s jawline; fascinated, he rubbed his thumb against it. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I was never mad at  _ you _ ,” Len corrected. “That bastard Wells, I’m still mad at. Still, you seem to be relatively unscathed, so for today I’ll have to give him the benefit of the doubt.” He drew back a little to look Barry over again. “Did you talk to him about these side effects?”

Barry hesitated.

He should tell Len. This was huge. He had superpowers, could run at hundreds of miles per hour - could move faster than anyone he’d ever seen. Of course he should share it with him; Cisco and Caitlin knew. Wells was a stranger, and  _ he  _ knew. Len was the man Barry shared his life with and wanted to do so forever, someone he trusted implicitly. Someone he would die for. Why wouldn’t he tell him?

“Uh, yeah, they gave me these exercises to do,” he said. 

Len quirked an eyebrow. “Exercises?”

“Yeah, to try and work off any stiffness and make sure everything still...works.”

“Well there’s one piece of equipment I’ve already made sure to test,” Len said smoothly, and his hand slid down Barry’s stomach to squeeze his cock through his jeans. “This is definitely still all in working order; nobody needs to run any tests on that.”

_ Oh.  _ Barry shivered. He’d been thinking that maybe being so close to Len all the time was what had been making him so horny, but as soon as he was done running off all his excess energy, that other urge had started making itself known. He’d been half hard all the way back from S.T.A.R Labs and was rapidly growing harder against Len’s palm. Tentatively, he rocked forwards, and was rewarded with another squeeze, Len pressing harder against him.

“You sure about that?” Barry asked hoarsely. “You don’t think it needs another...examination?”

“Hmm,” Len said, and with his free hand he slowly began to unbutton Barry’s shirt. “Well, if you’re concerned...maybe I  _ should  _ take a look. Just to set your mind at rest.”

He tugged Barry down onto the sofa and went down to his knees, pushing Barry’s legs apart. The sound of the zipper rasping as Len unfastened his jeans made Barry shiver. Len slowly popped the button and Barry lifted his hips so that the older man could slide his jeans down around his ankles, the fabric pooling at his feet. Len pressed his cheek against the inside of Barry’s thigh, his skin cool against the relative warmth of Barry’s leg. The tip of his nose brushed against sensitive skin and Barry’s breath hitched; Len turned his head a little to kiss him lightly, his other hand wandering up Barry’s other leg. His fingers danced from Barry’s knee, moving upwards, lingering just a few inches away from the hem of Barry’s underwear… then skimmed over the fabric completely, just the faintest brush over the shape of Barry’s cock, enough to make him jump and his lips part expectantly. ..Then further up, tracing his abs, wandering across to one of his nipples, which Len rubbed the pad of his thumb against, watching it harden.

He leaned forwards, his mouth hovering over the other nipple, which had already hardened slightly in the coolness of the air. Len pursed his lips and blew, the stream of cold air making Barry’s nipple stiffen even more. Pleased, Len touched that too, rubbing his thumb over the hardened nub. Barry closed his eyes. His hips shifted a little. Tutting, Len grabbed his waist and held him in place.

“Hold still. I’m trying to do an examination.”

“I thought it was my dick you were supposed to be looking at.”

“All in good time,” Len said, and closed his lips around one of Barry’s nipples.

Barry’s head dropped back against the sofa and he breathed out hard. He was so fucking sensitive there, sometimes a little embarrassed by how much he liked it - but Len’s enthusiasm spoke volumes. He pinched Barry’s other nipple, heat spiking through him and Barry yelped, his whole body jerking. It wasn’t so much the pain itself but the residual ache afterwards that felt so fucking good, a sharp tingling sensation left behind. 

Len gripped Barry through his boxers, and Barry was suddenly hyper-aware that he was practically naked on the sofa while Len was fully clothed. That struck him as particularly filthy for some reason; struck by the urge to have all of his clothes off, he started tugging at his waistband. Len helped him off with his jeans, then yanked Barry’s boxers down and threw them away too. 

They paused, then. Barry shivered a little, Len’s gaze so heavy on his body that it was practically a physical sensation. Slowly, Len placed his hands on the tops of Barry’s thighs and let them slide inwards, his thumbs skimming the soft skin of Barry’s inner thighs. Sparks shot up Barry’s spine. 

When Len’s mouth found his inner thigh, pressing the softest kiss to the vulnerable skin, Barry’s breath hitched. It was the most fleeting touch, but something about it made Barry shudder. After all the times they’d had sex, everything they’d ever done, it was still these simple little things that felt the most intimate to him. Reminders that Len would drop that iron facade for Barry in order to display a kind of gentleness that he never showed to anyone else. Eyes drifting closed, Barry tilted his head back.

A sharp nip to the skin made him startle and look down. Len had bitten him. His tongue laved lightly over the blossoming red mark, soothing it, but the admonishment was clear.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Barry felt his cheeks flooding with colour. 

The tip of Len’s nose brushed Barry’s skin again. “As endearing as it is seeing you lost for words, I’m not here for shy Barry today. It’s slutty Barry I’m in the mood for. Can you do that for me?”

“Give me a minute to work up to it,” mumbled Barry, hiding behind his hands. 

Len grabbed his ankle and lifted it, gently bending Barry’s leg so that one knee was drawn towards his chest. He placed Barry’s foot on the sofa cushion and then released him. Bewildered, Barry lowered his hands.

Len tapped his other ankle. “Up.”

Barry obeyed, his forehead creasing. “Uh...what are you doing?”

“Using my initiative. Lie back a little.”

Trying to get something out of Len when he didn’t feel like sharing was a near impossibility, so Barry settled for doing what he was told. As soon as he was in position, Len made a satisfied sound and parted Barry’s ass cheeks with his thumbs. His breath ghosted over Barry’s hole; Barry’s cheeks burned.

“Len, what - ”

“I watched a lot of porn while you were away,” Len said. “Found a couple of things I’d like to try out. That is, if you’ve no objection.”

Barry’s head was spinning. “I - what exactly are you - ”

“I haven’t eaten anybody out in a long time,” Len said, almost to himself. “I used to be quite good at it. Or so I was told.” He smirked. “I know it’s kind of different on a guy, but I figure the general principles are the same.”

“You - wanna put your mouth...there?”

Len cocked his head. “You don’t want me to?”

In all honesty, he’d never really thought about it. Of course he knew it was something people did, but like jet-skiing or mountaineering, it was never something he’d seen himself trying out. But now...with Len’s head between his legs, with him offering in such a low voice, Barry suddenly thought he’d spontaneously combust if he  _ didn’t  _ try it. 

“I definitely do,” Barry said hoarsely. “But - but if you don’t like it - ”

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Len said, and he licked a broad stripe against Barry’s hole.

It was electrifying. Barry had never imagined something feeling so sensitive, but it was a sudden rush of pleasure he’d never even imagined possible. Combined with the knowledge that Len, fully clothed, was putting his mouth somewhere that Barry had never imagined it being, he felt a little dizzy. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t particularly kinky, but it fucking felt like it. This was brand new territory.

Len didn’t hold back; he held Barry open with his thumbs and licked into him almost feverishly, a little messy at first before he slowed things down. His tongue moved in slow, precise circles around Barry’s hole, sending sparks of shocked pleasure up Barry’s spine. He grabbed the sofa with both hands, his legs shaking with the effort of keeping them in place. 

Len’s tongue was sinful against him, relentless. His grip possessive on Barry’s waist, long fingers spread across his hip, pressing hard enough to leave marks. Barry’s hips jerked helplessly into empty air, chasing for friction that wouldn’t come. It was crazy, that he could be this hard and this close with no stimulation on his cock at all, not a single touch where he needed it most.

When Len’s free hand slid between Barry’s legs, he drew back a little. His finger circled lightly around Barry’s hole, gathering the wetness there before he slipped the first digit inside.

As always the coolness of Len’s skin was a shock inside him, making him jump a little. Barry groaned quietly, his head falling back to hit the back of the sofa. Len gave him very little time to adjust; they both knew by now that Barry liked having to work for it, enjoyed a little bit of a stretch. A second finger slipped in to join the first, this one finding a little more resistance on the way in. The ache was so fucking good, and when Len lowered his mouth again and started to taste him again, his tongue working around - and, oh, fuck,  _ between  _ his fingers, Barry started keening. It was humiliating, his complete lack of filter, but he couldn’t shut up. He kept moaning, high and desperate, fucking filthy. He sounded like a slut, but Len didn’t seem to mind; he curled his fingers and when they brushed Barry’s prostate, his whole body jerked with the shock of it. 

“Oh God, yes -  _ there  _ \- ”

“Bossy,” Len said softly. 

Barry was past caring; Len had asked for slutty Barry, and now he had him. “More, please, c’mon - ”

“If you insist,” Len said, and he added a third finger.

Barry was helpless to do anything but lie there and let those debauched noises fall from his mouth, loud and shameless. He could hear a faraway pounding; could be the blood rushing through his body, could be the neighbours from below banging on the ceiling to tell them to quiet down. Past caring, Barry cried out again as Len found his prostate, got a good rhythm going. Barry’s whole body was trembling, out of his control; he was vibrating, oh God he was  _ vibrating  _ -

He came with a cry of shock, his whole body pulsating with the force of it. His whole body tremored violently through the aftershocks, impossible to control. He just kept crying out, spilling all over his stomach untouched, Len’s fingers still stretching him out in a way that was so unbelievably good. 

When Barry came back to himself, he was panting, could feel the blush staining his cheeks. Oh, God, how the hell was he going to explain that? Literally  _ vibrating _ , so much that the sofa had actually slid several inches backwards with the force of it. He hadn’t been able to control it, even after all of the running; it was like his body disconnected from his brain and it just  _ happened _ , and Len was staring at him in utter shock. His fingers were still in Barry’s ass, unmoving, stretching him out. What a way for his other half to find out he had superpowers. Shivering, Barry braced himself for the outpouring of accusations that was sure to follow.

Carefully, Len eased his fingers out and Barry couldn’t help the noise he made at the loss, the empty feeling that he never quite got used to. He could feel his hole fluttering to compensate. Len wiped his fingers off on his jeans, and then with his clean hand, cupped Barry’s cheek. His palm was cool and gentle against Barry’s overheated skin; Barry closed his eyes and pressed his face into the touch, desperate for it.

“You okay, Scarlet?” Len asked gently.

“Yeah,” Barry said hoarsely. “I’m sorry, I - ”

“You’re shaking," said Len. “Too much?”

“No,” Barry said, a little dizzy. “No, I - ”

Len breathed out hard. “You scared me. You were shaking like a damn leaf. I didn’t hurt you?”

It hit Barry all of a sudden: Len hadn’t realised he was vibrating. He’d been so caught up in what they were doing that it had completely escaped his notice that Barry had turned into a human sex toy. Barry went limp with relief. 

“No, I - it was just...intense, I guess.”

Len carded his hand through Barry’s hair. “Evidently. You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah,” Barry said. “I’m good.” Better than good. Dizzy with relief. He leaned forwards to kiss Len, suddenly aware of how cold it was in the apartment, and that he was damp and kind of sticky and...still a little horny. Unbelievably.

Len responded almost feverishly to his kiss and Barry remembered then that he still hadn’t come, that the earth-shattering orgasm Barry had just experienced had been a solitary experience. Well, that wouldn’t do at all. Tugging at Len’s jacket, he ripped it free of the older man’s shoulders and dumped it in a heap on the floor. Then he started on Len’s jeans, his fingers fumbling clumsily with the fly.

“Barry - ”

“I wanna ride you,” Barry interrupted. He made his eyes as beguiling as possible. “Please?”

Len breathed out shakily. “Barry,” he said. It sounded like a plea.

Barry grinned impishly. “You did say you wanted slutty Barry Allen.”

Gaze darkening, Len growled, “Guess I did.” 

His shirt hit the floor, and then Barry yanked him down onto the sofa and rolled so that he was sat astride him, one knee resting either side of Len’s hips. He knelt up, lining Len’s cock up with his hole. For a moment, he paused to tease them both, rubbing the head of Len’s cock against himself, spreading the slick wetness, letting Len feel what he’d done to him. 

“More lube,” Len said, his voice rough with desire.

Barry made an objectionable noise; they were too close to stop at this stage. “Don’t need it. C’mon - ”

“Barry,” Len snapped. “Lube.”

Groaning, Barry slipped off his lap and sprinted for the bedroom, the carpet hot against the soles of his feet. He almost gave himself away by using his speed, had to force himself to slow down as he rummaged through the top drawer and found the bottle. 

When he got back into the living room, Len was stroking himself, his eyes closed, biting hard on his lower lip like he was trying to keep himself from making any noise. Disapprovingly, Barry advanced on him and popped the cap on the lube. If he was going to disgrace himself by howling the place down when they fucked, he was damn sure he wasn’t going to be the only one. 

He tugged Len’s wrist out of the way and trickled lube directly onto his cock. Ordinarily Barry would have warmed it in his hand first, but Len liked it cold, liked the short sharp shock of it. Where most people’s erections would have flagged in response, Len only grew harder. He gave himself a few more strokes, and then Barry lost any semblance of patience and straddled him again, pressing down.

He was so stretched out already that there was barely any resistance when the head of Len’s cock found Barry’s entrance; he bottomed out in a perfect, hot slide that made his whole body spark with pleasure and pride, that he could take Len so easily. Deliberately, Barry tensed his muscles and clenched around him. 

He was rewarded with an explosion of swearwords, and another furious hammer from the neighbour directly below in response. Triumphantly, Barry rose up on his knees, and then slammed down. Hard.

They both gasped, then. Barry w as so sensitive, every nerve stripped raw so that the slightest touch made him cry out. Len’s hands found his waist and guided him as Barry bounced up and down on his cock, Len’s thrusts frantic and with an unusual lack of finesse. He was losing all semblance of control; Barry had done that to him, and the knowledge made him so fucking hard again as he ground down, trying to get Len to let go of the rest of it. Len opened his eyes and a shocked groan fell from his lips as he took Barry in. His heart pounded; he knew he must look fucking filthy, like a complete whore riding Len’s cock like he was starved for it, and the thought took him over the edge.

He came with a groan, his sweaty forehead falling to Len’s shoulder, having just enough presence of mind to clench down again as hard as he could. 

“Fuck, Barry!” Len swore, and then his orgasm hit and he bit down hard on Barry’s neck, his moan lost to Barry’s skin as he rode it out, his hips jerking erratically.

They both went boneless against each other, breathless and sated. Barry curled up against him, stealing the warmth of Len’s body, content just to press little kisses against Len’s neck and jaw while he waited for them both to recover.

Eventually, Len lifted his head and smirked. “12B is gonna have an aneurysm.”

“12B can shove it,” Barry retorted, referring to their irascible downstairs neighbour. “We pay the rent on this apartment; we can have sex as loud and as often as we want.”

“Someone’s feeling rebellious today.”

“Someone likes make-up sex,” Barry admitted without concern. “Besides, I never caught you complaining.”

Carefully, he detached himself from Len with a cringe as he felt a little lube and come trickle down his leg. Funny how that was always way hotter in the moment than it was after. He grabbed Len’s jeans off the floor and wiped himself clean with them; they were filthy anyway. Len watched him with amusement.

“Maybe we should argue more often. I like this side of you.”

“We don’t have to fight to have great sex,” Barry pointed out. Then, he hesitated. There was something he wanted to discuss, but he was leery of bringing up what had just happened in case Len started asking questions about the sudden bout of vibrating in the middle. After a moment he decided if Len was going to mention it, he’d have done it by now. “You’ve… been watching porn a lot.”

“Don’t rub it in; it was a long nine months.”

“No, I just meant…” Barry felt himself reddening. He could dirty talk with the best of them in the heat of the moment, but he was terrible at it once the moment was over. “You said...there were some other things you wanted to try out. Ideas, I think you said.”

Getting up off the couch, Len moved closer. He leaned in, getting right up in Barry’s space, and said in a low voice, “I did.” Then he smirked. “Guess you’re just gonna have to wait and see. Shower?”

He turned and headed for the bathroom. Astonished, Barry followed.

“You’re serious? You’re just gonna leave me hanging?”

“You bet. If I’m gonna keep up with you, I have to keep a few surprises up my sleeve. I’d hate for you to get bored.”

“I won’t get bored,” Barry whined. “I promise. C’mon, give me a clue?”

“Not a chance,” Len said cheerfully, switching on the shower and climbing in.

Barry made to follow him, only to find that Len had wrapped the shower curtain around himself like a toga and had his palm flat on Barry’s chest, holding him back.

“Dibs on first shower.”

Barry’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Teeth gleaming in a huge grin, Len repeated, “Dibs.”

“I - but - ” Whining, Barry said, “Can’t we share?”

“Nope. Dibs.”

“Aw, but - ”

“Fond as I am of your butt, in this situation it’s irrelevant. Dibs.”

“Fine,” Barry said sulkily and collapsed onto the toilet to wait. He was sticky and sweaty and not at all impressed by this turn of events; he also had the suspicion that this was Len’s payback for him going to S.T.A.R Labs. “But you’re doing the laundry.”

“Dream on,” Len said, and the shower curtain swooshed shut around him.

 

~*~

  
  


A few days passed. Much to Len’s displeasure, Barry spent a significant amount of time at S.T.A.R Labs after work each evening; he knew Len was irritated about it, from the slightly acerbic way in which he asked him how his day had gone, but they managed to avoid another fight. As much as he hated upsetting Len, Barry was becoming painfully aware of the importance of learning to control his powers. He’d almost given himself away when he started vibrating in the middle of sex and he had no intention of letting things get so out of hand again. 

Not that he  _ told  _ anyone at the lab about that. That was one secret he was taking to his grave. None of them asked too many questions anyway; Cisco was too excited, busily designing some kind of shoe that would be easier for Barry to run in and wouldn’t wear out too fast. Caitlin had thrown herself into analysing all of Barry’s medical readings and their possible scientific applications - including his rapid healing. He’d told them about the disappearing bruises, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her so excited. 

Doctor Wells kept mostly to himself, but he kept a close watch on all of them, particularly Barry. It had not escaped Barry’s notice that Wells might have a very personal stake in the medical potential of Barry’s accelerated healing, so if the doctor’s gaze got a bit too intense for his liking every now and then, he tried not to judge the man too harshly.

Of course, Barry’s life had developed a penchant for getting progressively more fucked up as time went on, and things couldn’t carry on being so normal for long. Ignoring how ridiculous it was that this was his new normal.

He was meeting Iris for coffee one afternoon, and as he approached their designated rendezvous, he came across a sight which made him frown. Iris was having an animated conversation with Joe’s new partner Eddie, a man who, last Barry had heard, she despised. She’d gone so far as to dub him ‘Officer Pretty’ or something of the sort, which was a little mean… although not unfounded. If Eddie had been a woman, half the guys in the precinct would have been panting after him and the other half would already have been turned down. As it was, it was just Barry and Captain Singh primly pretending as though they weren’t checking him out when no one was looking.

Iris was, amazingly, talking to Eddie like a normal person. Barry watched in disbelief as she actually touched his arm, a huge smile on her face. Barry distinctly remembered her making a comment not long ago about how she wouldn’t want to touch Eddie in case she got charm all over her… but that was before the coma. Maybe it  _ was  _ a long time ago for her.

Just then, Iris glanced up and saw him. She took a sudden and very deliberate step back from Eddie, and started waving over in Barry’s direction. He headed over, feeling strangely like he was interrupting something.

“Hey, guys. Iris.” He hugged her. “Eddie. How’s things?”

“Oh, hey, man. Great to see you up and running. Uh, walking. Things are great. Thanks for inviting me to your party, that was so great of you.”

In all the excitement, Barry had forgotten about the party; it kept getting postponed. “Oh, it’s no problem.”

“Didn’t you have somewhere to be,  _ Detective _ ?” Iris said pointedly.

For a moment, Eddie looked taken aback - then, he smiled. It looked pretty forced, which was weird, because whenever Barry met Eddie he always seemed to be on the verge of beaming. “You’re right. Weird stuff has been happening in this city lately. Apparently there was a  _ hurricane  _ in the Central City bank yesterday afternoon.” He shook his head. “Crazy as it sounds, someone has to get to the bottom of it. I have a lot of witnesses to talk to. I’d better get back to work. I’ll see you around, Barr.” 

He clapped Barry on the shoulder, leaving Barry to wonder when on earth they’d gotten onto nickname terms in the space of the two or three conversations they’d ever had, and whether this meant Barry ought to start calling him ‘Ed’.

“Iris,” Eddie said flatly, and promptly left.

Barry stared after him. “Did you spit in his coffee? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eddie come so close to being rude to someone…”

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Iris said, “Oh, you know, we don’t really see eye to eye…”

“Why were you even talking to him? I thought you hated him. Didn’t you call him… oh, god, what was it? Officer Pretty?”

Iris blushed. “Detective Pretty-Boy. But that’s not… I haven’t called him that...lately.”

“Detective Pretty-Boy,” Barry said thoughtfully. “Rude, but not unfounded. He  _ is  _ very pretty…”

Iris slapped him on the arm.

“Ow!” Barry said, more in surprise than pain. His arm stung. Iris looked down at her hand as if astonished by what it had just done. “What was that for?”

For a moment, Iris stood bewilderedly, still staring at her own hand. Then, she recovered and said, “Detective Thawne is straight.”

“A guy can dream,” Barry said.

“You have a boyfriend!”

“It’s just a little window shopping, Iris,” Barry said defensively. “Jeez.”

“Right, and how do you think Leonard would feel about your ‘window shopping’?”

Barry had to pause, then. He knew exactly how Leonard would feel about that. 

“Okay, you have a point,” he admitted. “But you started it by giving him the name in the first place.” He held out his arm. “Shall we walk?”

Less than ten minutes later, they were almost run down by a dead man.

 

~*~

 

Len had been waiting for a while when Barry got home, but he still got the shock of his life when Barry came storming through the front door like a hurricane, slamming doors and kicking off his shoes as if they had personally offended him. Slowly, Len got to his feet. It was not like Barry to be in such a foul temper; this needed some careful handling. 

At first, he thought it was plain and simple rage in Barry’s expression, radiating out from every pore. Even the way he stood was angry, his fists clenched at his sides, his whole body rigid with it. But when he drew a little closer, he was able to notice other things. Like how Barry’s eyelashes were damp and spiky, and his cheeks flushed in spite of the mildness of the weather. 

“What happened?” said Len.

Barry took a very deep breath. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Barry,” Len said quietly.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“ _ Barry _ .”

“Just get off my case, okay?” snapped Barry, and he tried to storm past.

Len put an arm out to stop him. “Talk to me.”

“Let me past.”

“Not unless you tell me what’s bothering you,” Len said calmly.

Calm was the way to go with Barry; experience had taught him that going in all guns blazing and dripping with sarcasm rarely panned out well, although he tended to lose his temper quickly in their arguments. Luckily, he was feeling mellow today. He could handle anything Barry had to throw at him.

Apparently though, Barry did not have much to throw. He clung to his hostile posture for a moment longer, before he took a shaky breath and it all collapsed. It became very apparent then that all his bluster and anger had been an attempt to get past before he broke down crying. Barry’s face contorted as he tried to hold back the flood, but his dam was very clearly full of cracks.

“Barry, what happened?”

When Barry turned to him, his eyes glimmered with tears. “I saw something impossible,” he said hoarsely. “Something...crazy. But it was real. I saw it. I  _ know  _ it was real,” he said forcefully. “And Joe doesn’t believe me. Nobody  _ ever  _ believes me.”

“Try me.”

Barry blinked. One of his tears fell; the kid lifted a hand to furiously swipe it away, but Len beat him to the punch, catching the teardrop on the pad of his thumb. There was a glistening trail on Barry’s cheek where it had fallen. 

“You won’t believe me,” Barry said bitterly. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

“I think you’re a lot of things. Crazy isn’t one of them.”

“Joe says I’m projecting my trauma. He thinks that I went crazy when my mom died...he called my dad a murderer. He said I had to stop making excuses and focus on what’s real. But I know this is real! I know I’ve been obsessed with some stupid things in the past. Bigfoot. Aliens. I wish I could take that back, because now nobody takes me seriously. I know what I saw, but he won’t  _ listen _ !” Barry said furiously. He turned away, shoulders heaving. “This is important. I don’t know how to make him believe me.”

“Tell me what you saw,” said Len.

Barry turned back to him with a humourless laugh. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me,” Len said again.

“Don’t. I can’t handle you calling me crazy as well.”

“I have  _ never  _ called you crazy,” Len said sharply. “And I never will. Tell me what you saw.”

Barry swallowed. It took him a moment to collect himself, and in that heartbeat Len swore to have words with Joe about this. No matter how implausible Barry’s beliefs were, that was no excuse to be so harsh with him.

“I saw a man who’s supposed to be dead,” Barry said. “Clyde Mardon.”

Len drew upon all of his talent as a good liar to keep his face blank.

“Mardon was a criminal,” Barry said. “Him and his brother. On the night of the particle accelerator explosion, the two of them were on the run from Joe and his partner, and they got in this plane. They flew it straight into the blast - after shooting Joe’s partner in the chest. Obviously, everyone thought that was the last of them. But it wasn’t. Clyde Mardon survived; I saw him.”

“That’s not so crazy,” Len observed. “People survive plane crashes all the time. It’s unlikely, sure, but stranger things have happened.”

“That’s not the crazy part.” Barry sniffed.

Wordlessly, Len passed him a handkerchief. With a grateful smile, Barry used it. He crumpled the fabric into a ball in his fist.

“I saw Mardon when I was out with Iris this afternoon. I chased after him… and, uh.” He laughed at himself, and it made Len’s chest hurt, that small confused sound. “I think he can control the weather.”

Len fought to keep his impassive expression in place. It was no easy task; he suddenly had a glimmer of understanding as to how Joe could have flown off the handle about this. Even for Barry, this was a little  _ too  _ crazy. But he’d promised to hear him out.

“What makes you say that?”

“I…” Barry blinked. Clearly he’d been expecting Len to scoff at him outright, which made him all the more determined not to do so. “I saw him do it. When I chased after him, Mardon turned on me. All this fog came out of nowhere… it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t like smoke, or mist, it was this real thick fog, and by the time it cleared, he was gone.” He looked fiercely into Len’s eyes. “I saw it. It was real; he caused that fog, and I think he was responsible for the hurricane in the Central City bank, too. ...But you don’t believe me, do you?”

The intensity of his expression was a little frightening. Barry had spoken before of how much he despised being told that he was crazy, after so many years of being taunted and patronised and mocked for believing in every wild conspiracy theory or myth that passed underneath his nose. Len had never realised how deeply it cut him to the quick, being told so many times that he hadn’t seen what he knew had been right there in front of him. Gently, Len took Barry’s hands, sweaty and shaking as they were.

“I believe that you believe it,” he said. “I think you saw exactly what you said you saw… I’m a straightforward guy, Barry. I believe the evidence of my own eyes. Some guy controlling the weather… that’s beyond me. Unless I see that happen right in front of me, I’m going to have my doubts; I won’t lie to you about that.

“But the other part of your story, that I  _ do  _ believe in. Clyde Mardon isn’t dead, and I know that for a fact.”

“You do?” Barry said eagerly. “ _ How _ ?”

That gave Len pause; how to explain without revealing too much? “Let’s just say I’ve heard a lot of gossip. I know a couple of guys who aren’t exactly squeaky clean; Mardon’s been turning a lot of heads. Word on the street has it that he’s not exactly all there. Whatever happened to him the night the particle accelerator exploded seems to have left him a few sandwiches short of a picnic. And the crazy types don’t make good crooks. They draw too much attention to themselves.”

The last part was true. The rest of it… more an edited version of the truth than an outright lie. Truth of the matter was that Len had known of Mardon for a while; he’d run foul of him and his brother a few times before he tried to get back on the straight and narrow, way before Barry was on the scene. The Mardon brothers had never been particularly high calibre criminals, but Len had crossed paths with them every now and then. Never on the job; usually in seedy bars. They hadn’t been particularly popular in the circles he moved in - or on the brink of; he didn’t like to intersect too much with other crooks - but he knew  _ of  _ them. He’d been aware of their deaths, vaguely; at the time he’d been too caught up in everything going on with Barry to care about two second rate criminals blowing themselves up. 

But lately, there had been an awful lot of whispers. Now that he’d started integrating himself back into the criminal community, such as it was, he heard things. Certain rumours; nothing he’d have given credit to, before...but weird things had been happening in this city of late. A huge increase in crime and no one getting caught; security was at an all time high, and there were a lot of strange stories circulating. He’d always brushed it off as crazy talk before now - but maybe it wasn’t all that crazy after all. 

After all, when he’d brushed past Mardon in a bar a few evenings back, the guy didn’t look dead to him.

He and Mick had been in some crummy bar on the far side of town, not one of their usual haunts, drinking the last of the money from their last heist and discussing plans for the next one. Len got up to take a leak, and the next thing he knew, he was meeting Mardon’s gaze across the bar.

The man looked unhealthy. Sallow, with stringy, unwashed hair and a pinched look to him, like he hadn’t eaten a square meal in a while. He looked like he might be on drugs, actually, and he’d been muttering to himself. Len hadn’t cared to listen in. All he knew was that Mardon looked like a whole barrel of crazy, and he didn’t particularly want to get involved. He’d given Mardon his most disinterested look and gone on his way, but not without a certain level of unease. After all, the guy was supposed to be dead.

Len didn’t take much stock in ghosts, but he’d been avoiding the bar ever since, just in case.

“Now I’m no expert,” he said, “but if a guy were to somehow survive a plane crash… well. Being able to control the weather might have something to do with that.”

Barry was giving him a very odd look. Mouth hanging open, eyes shining. For a moment Len thought Barry had rumbled him; that he was seeing straight through that slightly shady cover story. Admittedly, he should have thought it through a bit better. Len could lie like a trooper, but he could have done with a little time to prepare.

“You’re staring,” he said.

“You believe me.”

“I said I’d hear you out.”

“But...nobody believes me.”

He said it so quietly that Len almost didn’t catch it. But when he did, he got angry extremely quickly. Len knew from personal experience that gaslighting someone like that - even unintentionally - fucked them up far more than anything they might have seen inside their own head. Whether or not Barry’s mom had really been murdered by a guy in a yellow suit, Len didn’t know, but he was sure as hell she hadn’t been killed by her husband. As someone who had killed plenty of times before, Len didn’t think Henry Allen had it in him. He was too kindly; there was none of the steel in him that would be required to murder anyone, let alone his own wife.

“What exactly did Joe say to you?” asked Len.

Barry shrugged and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “The usual. I’m delusional. I need to quit projecting my mom’s death onto supernatural stuff. He’s not normally quite so blunt about it, but this time he went all out. He told me very clearly that my dad’s a murderer, and that I need to stop making excuses for him. Why he thinks I’d be having delusions about Clyde Mardon I don’t know, it’s not like he had anything to do with it. I guess I’m just the crazy foster son he got stuck with, so any time I say something he doesn’t believe, he pins it on my mom dying.”

“Is that right?” Len said coolly. “I think he and I are going to have words.”

“Don’t bother. He won’t change his mind. He’s always going to think I’m crazy.” Barry ran a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t mind as much if this wasn’t important. Mardon is dangerous. If he can control the weather, he could do so much damage. He has to be caught as soon as possible, before he hurts somebody.”

Len thought about this for a while. After what Joe had said to Barry, Len was more than happy to stand by and let Mardon shoot a few holes in the guy… but he knew that when Barry stopped being so angry, that would bother him. No. He had to take a different approach to this situation.

“Let me talk to him,” he said, touching Barry’s arm. 

“That sounds like the complete opposite of a good idea.”

“Trust me. Joe and I may not see eye to eye, but he’s not a complete idiot. If you’ve got someone to back you up about Mardon, he might start to see things your way.”

“Or he might talk you into thinking I’m crazy,” Barry said bitterly.

“You really think anyone could talk me into anything?”

He gave Barry a moment to process all of this. The hope in the kid’s eyes was a little painful, but he was evidently very wary. Len felt like he was trying to coax the kid off the edge of a cliff, insisting he’d catch him before he hit the floor, and Barry was desperate to make the jump and join him...but he didn’t quite dare.

“Trust me,” he repeated.

“I do trust you,” Barry said. “I do. But - ”

“No buts,” Len interrupted, putting a finger on Barry’s lips. “Trust me. I’ll handle Joe.”

For a while Barry was quiet. He closed his eyes, and Len waited, feeling the steadiness of Barry’s breathing against the tip of his finger. Up until then, he hadn’t realised how exhausted Barry looked. It was as if he had the weight of the world heaped on his shoulders, and he was sinking underneath the pressure.

“Okay,” Barry said. “I trust you.”

 

~*~

 

The next evening when Barry arrived at S.T.A.R Labs, Cisco cornered him almost immediately. Without explanation, he dragged Barry through winding corridors and down hallways, beaming from ear to ear the entire time. Well used to Cisco’s boundless enthusiasm by now, Barry accepted the way his arm was practically being yanked out of his socket right up until Cisco came to a sudden stop outside a doorway. Barry was about to go inside when his friend put a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Before we go in,” Cisco said, “I want you to promise you won’t tell Doctor Wells about this.”

Barry frowned. “Why?”

Shifting from foot to foot, Cisco said, “You’ll understand in a minute. Let’s just say he thinks I’m not taking this seriously.” 

He pushed the door open. Burning with curiosity, Barry stepped in.

Right in the centre of the room was a mannequin dressed in the strangest get-up he’d ever seen. A tight suit made of some leathery material, a cowl that left the lower part of the face exposed but covered all the rest. Aside from a few golden threads here and there, the suit was unadorned, and it looked hard-wearing. When he reached out to touch it, the material was supple but strong.

“What is this?”

“Something I’ve been working on,” said Cisco. “S.T.A.R Labs hasn’t been in anybody’s good books lately. Our funding is limited, but I wanted to prove that we can still do some good - and maybe try and get people to stop hating Doctor Wells so much. So I designed this suit for firefighters to wear. It’s heat and friction resistant - to try and provide better protection from the flames - and it has these built in systems for communication and monitoring, so the wearer’s vitals can be monitored from a longer distance. But we don’t have the money to produce them on a larger scale, and I doubt anybody would take on any kind of S.T.A.R Labs prototype after what happened…” Cisco looked at him hopefully. “I thought maybe...you could wear it.”

“Me?” Barry said. He wasn’t a firefighter. Then he thought about it a little harder. Heat and friction resistant. He was suddenly reminded of the pair of shoes he’d had to throw in the trash after a day of running around for S.T.A.R Labs’ tests. “You mean...like a superhero suit.”

All of a sudden Cisco looked very anxious. “Look, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to push you into something here, man. When I showed this to Doctor Wells, he got really mad. Seemed to think I was trying to get you to endanger your life so I could indulge my childhood fantasies about being a superhero. Your wellbeing means a lot to Doctor Wells; he thinks your genetics might hold the secret to...well, a lot of things. Curing diseases. Massive medical advances. The last thing he wants is for you to start running around being a hero.” Cisco took a deep breath. “I just want you to have all the tools you should have. This suit has a great aerodynamic design, so it should give you better control over your speed. It’s resistant to heat and friction, so it won’t wear out like your normal clothes would, or catch fire or anything like that. I figured if you’re going to be running around, you might as well do it safely. That’s all.”

“Cisco,” Barry said quietly, “I have these cool powers. I should use them for something good. That much I know. But a hero? That really isn’t me.”

How many times had he got his ass kicked as a kid, trying to do the right thing? Never wanting to stand back while injustice was carried out. When had that ever got him anywhere? The bullies just turned and kicked the shit out of him instead. Barry had learnt the hard way that whatever heroes were made of - muscle and strength and fierceness - he didn’t have enough of it. Maybe the kind of hero Barry Allen was meant to be wasn’t the kind to stand on the front line throwing punches. Perhaps his purpose was to stand on the sidelines and let his genetics do the saving for him. Let S.T.A.R Labs extrapolate a hundred cures from him, saving lives all over the world. That was enough, wasn’t it? 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Barry. You’re more of a hero than you realised. You saved that guy, remember? He almost got hit by that car, but you stopped it before you even knew what you could do.” Cisco clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m not telling you that you have to do anything. Or that you should. The suit’s yours either way. But if you  _ do  _ decide to be a superhero…” Cisco grinned impishly. “Do I get first dibs on being your sidekick?”

Barry laughed in spite of himself. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Cisco wandered off, leaving Barry to stand for a while and stare at the suit. To run his fingers across it, to feel the fabric. To wonder what it might look like if he were to put it on. Would he feel more like a hero if he dressed the part?

He wanted to try it on.

It frightened him, the intensity of the urge. To see himself wearing the suit, playing the hero. That wasn’t him; it couldn’t be. He was just some silly, spindly CSI who never really made much of a difference. He couldn’t even get a proper grasp on his speed; he still crashed into things and started vibrating every time he got excited. What made him think that wearing a different outfit could change that?

Hurrying out of the room, Barry closed the door behind him and tried to get the suit out of his head. It was sweet of Cisco to give it to him, but he couldn’t wear it. He couldn’t be the kind of guy who ought to wear a suit like that - a fireman, a lifesaver. A superhero.

Even so, he couldn’t quite put it out of his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no sex this chapter, but mentions of sexual intimacy that goes into like, some amount of detail? to avoid, stop at 'Joe made a scathing nose' and start again at '"Barry!"''

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. The superhero suit. The whole superhero thing in general. It had never really occurred to him before Cisco had brought the whole thing up, but now it kept playing on his mind. So Barry went to the one person he felt might understand what the hell he was going through - Oliver.

They met on a rooftop in Starling City, possibly the most melodramatic location Oliver could have come up with. Barry stood shivering, wishing he’d taken Cisco up on his offer and put on the suit, because it sure looked warmer than what he had on. He stood and poured his heart out to Oliver - the superpowers, saving the guy in the car, not wanting to tell Len. Feeling that maybe his role was to be on the sidelines, but also feeling like that wasn’t what he wanted. Barry’s first instinct had always been to run headlong into danger, even if half the time he realised he’d made a huge mistake and ended up turning around and sprinting straight off in the opposite direction.

Now that he might actually have the tools to win a fight, could he really be content look the other way.

“Seems to me like you’ve already made up your mind,” Oliver observed.

“I’m no hero,” Barry said softly. “I’m not like you.”

“Being like me is not something anyone should aspire to. I never set out to be a hero, Barry; I never wanted to be the good guy. I wanted to get my vengeance, to carry on my father’s crusade. All of the lives I saved… that was a happy accident, it was never my goal. You can be better than me, Barry. A real hero.”

“Can I?” Barry asked desperately. “I’m not certain I have it in me. I never did anything to deserve this. You spent years on that island; you fought and trained and worked to get where you are now. All I did was get struck by lightning.”

“I don’t think that _is_ all you did,” Oliver said. “After all the things I’ve seen, I don’t believe in chance. I believe in opportunities. Not necessarily a higher power, although it certainly feels like someone up there must have been keeping a close eye on me over the years. I’d never have made it through if they hadn’t… but what happened to you, Barry, the odds are insane. I think that lightning chose you. I don’t think there’s anyone better it could have chosen. You have a good heart, Barry. That’s what’s important.”

“It feels like I’m being selfish even thinking about it,” Barry admitted. “Risking my life, risking medical treatment and the lives of thousands of people so I can run round in a stupid costume playing the hero.”

“We’re talking hypothetical lives, Barry. Whatever medication they might be able to derive from your biochemistry, any advances they make, they’ll have to be tested and approved and distributed and that’s if they make any progress in the first place. But you could make a difference right now. You could go down there and save lives - not ten years from now, but straight away. Change the world, Barry Allen.”

“You really think I could?” Barry asked.

“I think if you can run six hundred miles in one night, then you can do anything.” Oliver smiled wryly. “But don’t take my advice. Do what you think is right. Follow your instincts and they won’t fail you. What does your gut say?”

“My gut says…” Barry took a deep breath.

Just as he did so, his stomach gave an obnoxious gurgle, so loud that it could probably be heard from several streets away. Cheeks burning, Barry put a hand to his stomach to try and silence it. He could see Oliver grinning from underneath his hood.

“My gut says it wants a cheeseburger,” Barry said ruefully. “After that…” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll see where the wind takes me. I don’t have to go looking for trouble, but if trouble comes my way...well. I won’t go down without a fight.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Oliver said. “And if you ever need a helping hand...you know where I am.”

“Thank you,” Barry said.

“What for?”

The question took him by surprise. “For...being my friend.”

Oliver waved him away. “Don’t thank me for that. I should be thanking you for being mine; I don’t have very many. My personality tends to put people off.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Barry said dryly.

“Get your ass back to Central City,” Oliver said, smirking at him. “Can’t leave it unprotected for too long. I’ll be thinking of you out there. Saving lives in a flash.”

Barry paused thoughtfully. _In a flash._ Oliver, he thought, might be onto something there.

Before he could say so, Oliver turned around, ran towards the edge of the rooftop and jumped straight off, limbs spread-eagled to slow his descent. Barry blurred over to the edge to watch him fall, but Oliver had already shot a grappling hook into the wall of the opposing building and was hanging there with ease, like he did it every day. Which, thinking about it, he probably did.

“Show-off!” shouted Barry.

Oliver stuck up his gloved middle finger in an unusually cheerful way before he slowly started abseiling down to the ground. For a moment, Barry stood and shook his head - then he turned and started sprinting back towards Central City.

 

~*~

_Blurred colours. Howling wind, splashes of red and yellow racing around too quickly for the eyes to follow. Screaming, the rattling of the window-panes, furniture overturned and papers flying wildly around in the wind. His mom on her knees in the centre of the room, hair a tornado around her, eyes wide with terror, her mouth hanging open in a scream._

_“Barry!”_

_“Mom!”_

_His heart racing so hard he was dizzy with it, sheer panic like he’d never felt rising up inside him. Behind him he could hear his dad shouting, telling him to run, but his feet were rooted to the floor; all he could see was his mom’s fingers anchored in the carpet, her head whipping frantically back and forth to try and keep the red and yellow blurs in her line of sight._

_Then_ _something rushed at him, and Barry stumbled back in horror. His eyes refused to focus, the colours around him blinding - but for a moment the impression seared across his line of sight, a man dressed all in yellow, his face a blur -_

_His dad’s grip on his shoulders, so hard that it hurt, yanking Barry to face him and yelling at him to run. He’d never seen his mom look so white and scared, his dad so panicked, and it shook him to the core. The whole world was falling to pieces around him, the only solid thing in the world was the carpet beneath his feet, the doorframe he clung to with frantic fingers -_

_And then his fingers were ripped free and he drew in a shocked breath and then he was on the street, left alone with the silence of the night._

Barry woke with a yell of shock, jolting upright in bed so suddenly that the whole thing almost capsized beneath him.

He had two fistfuls of the duvet, his whole body wracked with shudders that wouldn’t stop. Heaving breaths in and out, he stared into the darkness, watching as the room solidified around him, recognition rapidly returning. For a moment he’d expected to wake at home in his childhood bedroom, to run to his parents’ bedroom and climb into their bed and have his mom’s arms around him, holding him tight.

The hand on his shoulder made him jump out of his skin, almost falling out of bed in shock. Then he blinked and recognised Len, giving him a look of concern. He let go and held his hands up, like Barry was holding him at gunpoint.

“You okay?” he asked urgently.

“I…” Barry breathed in shakily. “Yeah. I had a nightmare. Just… just a nightmare.”

“Your mom again?” Len asked gently.

Tightly, he nodded. It had been a long time since he’d had dreams like that - they were common when he was a kid; he was visited almost every night by that awful memory, the man in the yellow suit lunging at him from the dark… but eventually they’d abated.

They hadn’t troubled him for years, until he’d woken from the coma.

The memory that had almost subsided to a residual bitter ache came surging back full force, churned up inside his head by the lightning - the new trauma dislodging things he’d thought he’d been getting over. Years worth of progress undone in one fell swoop. Barry was never naive enough to think he’d completely overcome the repercussions of that night; growing up minus two parents rather than just the one had ensured that. He’d never been able to get over the injustice of his dad being wrongly imprisoned, even if he could have overcome the death of his mom.

The past few weeks, though, he’d woken up on a disconcertingly regular basis after dreaming about that night. As if it hadn’t been bad enough to live through it once.

“C’mere,” said Len.

He held an arm out, and Barry lay back down and tucked himself underneath it. Len smelt comfortingly of sleep, and the faint undertone of sweat from being trapped under the covers with Barry’s ridiculous body heat. Despite Barry being clammy and gross, Len didn’t shy away from him; instead, he drew him close, the tip of his nose resting against Barry’s collarbone. His breath was cool on Barry’s skin.

“I see her every night,” Barry said bitterly. “I hate seeing her so _scared._ ”

“I know,” said Len. “I know.”

There was nothing more to say, and Len didn’t try. Instead he just kept him close, running his fingers over Barry’s sticky skin until he could breathe a little easier and that gross clammy feeling had started to wear off.

  
Eventually Len’s breathing evened out as he drifted back off to sleep. That left Barry to lie staring at the ceiling, his heart still hammering, the sound of his mom’s screams still ringing in his ears. After all this time, they were still painfully clear. It was _all_ so vivid; the howling of the wind despite the fact that the windows were all closed; their possessions flying around the room in the unnatural tempest, the silhouette of the man in yellow moving faster than Barryy had ever thought possible until -

Until he’d done it himself.

Barry went rigid all over. Every muscle tensed, going solid as a rock.

How could he not have realised it before?

The one thing he’d never been able to understand himself - aside from why on earth anyone would want to kill his mom in the first place - was what had been going on in that room before his mom died. All the bright lights, the flashes of colour, the turbulence rocketing around the walls. The man in the yellow suit, never standing still, only once moving slowly enough for Barry to catch a glimpse of him. The rest of the time he had been little more than a blur.

Over the years Barry had justified that in a thousand different ways: his mind had been frightened and confused, too traumatised to process what was happening, unable to focus... or else it was some kind of supernatural apparition. He had never paused to consider the fact that now seemed obvious to him: the man in the yellow suit had been moving too quickly for him to see.

The man in the yellow suit, the man who had killed his mom - he was like Barry. He was _fast_.

 

~*~

 

There was an argument going on when Barry arrived at S.T.A.R Labs the next day. He paused in the doorway for a moment to listen. Doctor Wells was coming closer to yelling than Barry had ever heard him, and when Barry strained his ears, he could hear Cisco mumbling, too quietly for him to pick out the words.

“- can’t believe that you could be this irresponsible!” Wells snapped. “I made my feelings about this perfectly clear; by encouraging this, you are putting Barry’s life in danger, as well as the lives of everyone our research here is aiming to help! This is the real world, Cisco, not a science fiction novel, and Barry Allen is not a superhero. He’s an ordinary man with extraordinary abilities. He is not invulnerable, he is not invincible. He is not a hero.”

“But that’s just it, Doctor Wells, he _is_ a hero!” Cisco argued, suddenly confident. “He already saved a guy before he even knew what he was capable of! And with our help - ”

“With our help he would run straight into trouble and wind up dead,” Wells said coldly. “I do not want Barry Allen’s death on my conscience, Cisco. Do you?”

This struck Barry as a good time to cut in. He flitted lightly back to the end of the corridor, then took a deep breath and sped towards them again, bursting through the doors in the most dramatic way imaginable, waving his arms a little so that all the paperwork in the room went flying. In the back of his mind, he resolved to buy them some paperweights.

They all jumped and turned to look at him. Caitlin had her arms wrapped around herself and was chewing her lip; Cisco looked pale but determined. Only Doctor Wells seemed to keep his cool.

“Barry,” he said. “How long have you been standing there?”

“I just got here,” said Barry. He had a split-second decision to make: should he confront them about what he had just heard, potentially causing the disagreement to spiral, or just let sleeping dogs lie? After all, Doctor Wells would hardly be thrilled to hear that he had already made up his mind.

He gave another quick look around the room. Tension radiated from all of his friends; Barry didn’t want to be the cause of more of it. Besides which, he had to remember that Doctor Wells was Cisco’s employer; too much dissent and he could technically decide to have Cisco fired. Barry did not want that to happen; Cisco would be destroyed, and after what happened at the lab, it wasn’t as if he had another job waiting with open arms for him to go to.

In the end, Barry decided to focus on the matter at hand. “I’ve been thinking about things lately,” he said. “I’ve been having these nightmares...everything that’s been going on has shaken things up in my head. Things I’ve been trying hard not to think about.

“I’ve been remembering things about the night my mom was murdered. And it came to me. That night, there was all this static in the air. All the liquid in the room started floating. There were these flashes of light...or at least, I _thought_ they were light. Now I think they were lightning. It was the same lightning that appears every time I use my speed.” Barry looked around the room, making eye contact with each of them in turn. His focus landed on Doctor Wells, who was watching him intently, his fingers steepled in his lap. “I think the man in yellow, the man who killed my mom… he must have been a speedster. He was like me.”

He waited for their reaction, certain that it would be similar to his own. Stunned disbelief, maybe. Curiosity. A rush of understanding.

He didn’t get it. Caitlin stopped gnawing on her lip and started working on the skin of her thumb instead, chewing around the nail like a beaver. Cisco looked away. Doctor Wells _smiled_ \- not impressed, not intrigued… it was the tolerant smile one might give a child who has just shouted something obvious, and expected it to be a revelation. Like Barry had just proudly explained to him that the sky was blue, or that gravity exists.

“I think,” Doctor Wells said, “I can say with the utmost certainty that there is nobody out there quite like you, Mr. Allen.”

Dismayed, Barry said, “But - ”

“The explosion that gave you your powers took place less than a year ago, and your mother’s death was over a decade prior. Your speed is a scientific miracle, Barry; it may be astonishing, it may be remarkable, but it can be explained. Before the particle accelerator malfunctioned, there had never been another scientific event like it. There was nothing that could have given another man the powers you have. Even if there was, the variables would be astounding; there would be no telling whether the effects of the explosion could be replicated, certainly without the technology we have available to us today.

“It’s an interesting theory, Barry, and if your mother had died more recently then there might be some credit to it, but for another speedster to have been created without the existence of the particle accelerator is a scientific impossibility. I’m sorry.”

Wells turned his chair around and headed for the exit. Barry stood and stared after him. He had been so certain… a metahuman was the only explanation. How else could the man in the yellow suit have moved so fast? Barry had been so sure of his explanation that to have it yanked from underneath his feet like that was worse than jarring. It was like missing a step on the stairs and falling, and never reaching the bottom. Tumbling back into the freefall of uncertainty.

His theory _had_ to be correct - but there was no denying that Doctor Wells was right - without the particle accelerator explosion, what else could have created another man like Barry?

It was all the same story over and over again - knowing what had happened, but having no way of proving it. Going back to being the conspiracy theories, the one who investigated all the inexplicable shit that other people just brushed off, and coming up empty handed.

But, he reminded himself, this time he wasn’t going in there totally clueless. This time, it wouldn’t just be blind searching for anything that didn’t add up or couldn’t be explained. He had a lead. A tenuous lead, and one he had no idea how he was going to explore… but he had one. And he wasn’t going to let go.

“Are you okay?” Caitlin asked.

“Yeah,” Barry said quietly. “I just...I want answers, you know? I’ll keep looking into it.” He forced a clueless smile onto his face, and turned to Cisco. “So what were you guys talking about?”

Cisco and Caitlin exchanged alarmed looks. They started making faces at each other; Barry watched, bemused, as Caitlin made a huff of disgust and folded her arms.

“We were talking about the suit,” Cisco said. “Doctor Wells thinks it’s a bad idea. He says I’m encouraging you to be reckless.”

“You’re encouraging me to stop being selfish,” Barry said, “and you’re right. I have these powers; the least I can do is use them. What kind of person would I be to sit back and do nothing when I could be helping people? I’ve made up my mind. I’ll do it.” He gave a small smile. “I even have a superhero name. _The Flash._ ”

“The Flash?” Cisco looked thoughtful. “Not bad. I kind of had a soft spot for ‘The Scarlet Speedster’ - because of the suit, and everything - but I guess ‘The Flash’ works too. Kind of rolls off the tongue.”

“Barry, are you sure about this?” asked Caitlin, touching his arm. “Doctor Wells is right; this is dangerous. It’s not like it is on TV, where the superhero always comes out on top. Bad things happen. It’s not even like being a cop, or a firefighter. You could get hurt. You could die.”

“I can’t just stand by and let bad things keep happening, Caitlin,” Barry said quietly.

“I understand that, Barry. But I’ve already lost one person I care about because of the particle accelerator. I can’t bring Ronnie back. He was a hero, and he lost his life, and I can’t change that. But what I can do is try to prevent the same thing happening to you.” She glanced across at Cisco. “I can’t stop you from doing this, but I’m certainly not going to help you. I’m sorry.”

She walked out, arms wrapped around herself. Chewing on his lip, Barry watched her, listened to the fading sound of her heels clicking as she left. When he turned back around, Cisco was watching him.

“She’ll come around,” he said. “Ronnie’s death...it took a toll on her.”

“I know,” Barry said. “And maybe she’s right. This is crazy. It’s reckless. ...But I still wanna do it. Caitlin and Doctor Wells don’t wanna help me, that’s fine, that’s on them. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and be a hero anyway. I’ve got a sidekick vacancy still up for grabs… if you still want it.”

“Oh,” Cisco said, a grin spreading across his face, “I’m in.”

 

~*~

 

In spite of Cisco’s enthusiasm, Barry couldn’t shake the anxiety gnawing at him whenever he thought of the way Caitlin and Doctor Wells had reacted to the idea of him being a superhero. He tried to focus on the way it had felt to rescue that man from being hit by a car, and to snatch Iris out of harm’s way the day he saw Clyde Mardon, but he couldn’t quite put Caitlin’s disappointed expression out of his mind. As little as he wanted to believe that she was right, there was an unpleasant little voice in the back of his head which totally agreed with what she was saying.

At work he was useless and distracted, making constant mistakes with his paperwork, barely able to stop jittering for long enough to analyse any of his samples. Whilst he was attempting to give Singh a report on a case - not even a particularly high-profile one; he’d been given something fairly simple for his first case back - he made such a mess of it that the Captain stopped him halfway through and sent him home.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Singh said sternly. “Bearing in mind you were unconcious for the past nine months, you really don’t have an excuse.” He then clapped Barry on the shoulder in a bizarrely kind way, and said, “Don’t overdo it, Allen. I don’t want to have to see you back in a hospital bed.”

As much as Barry had wanted to object - he missed his job, and had been craving the normalcy of being back in work and having something to do that wasn’t related to any supernatural nonsense - he had to admit that he was only making a bigger mess staying where he was. Maybe home was the best place for him. Gratefully, he took his leave and made his way home, thinking of a quiet night in with Len, watching movies and putting all the superhero stuff out of his mind. It was nice to know that there was still a normal life waiting for him back at home, where he didn’t have to worry about any superhero stuff.

Home was quiet, and smelled invitingly of pizza when he walked through the doorway. For a moment Barry stood in the doorway, letting the familiarity of it wash over him like an embrace. The TV was on, turned down low; the only light came from the lamp in the corner, bathing the room in a gentle glow. Smiling to himself, Barry hung his jacket up just as Len emerged from the kitchen.

“You're back sooner than I expected," Len said, crossing the room to place his hands on either side of Barry's waist. He studied him carefully for a moment without comment.

"Yeah, Captain Singh sent me home early. Said I looked really rough." He looked pitifully at Len. “I don't look that bad, do I?"

"I think you're overdoing things," Len said, tactfully avoiding the question. "You're still healing. Less than three weeks ago you were in a coma. Your body still needs time to adjust; you're trying to do too much too fast."

  
"I know, I know, I just - " Barry buried his face in his hands. "I'm just trying to get my life back on track. I missed so much while I was gone; there's so much to catch up on. No matter what I do I feel like I'm behind, nothing I do is right - I can't sleep at night, I keep having those stupid nightmares - " 

"Dreaming about your mom again," Len said softly. His thumb brushed lightly over a sliver of exposed skin by Barry's hipbone, where his jeans had slipped. 

"I hate it," Barry said. "Every night I have to go through it again, like it wasn't bad enough the first time. I thought I was... not over it. I'll never get over it. But I thought I'd gotten used to the fact that she's gone, that I was handling it. And now it's all come back."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No. It's bad enough having to live through it again every night without talking about it on top of that."

"Okay," said Len. "That's okay. I'm...not good at the mushy stuff. But you know if you ever need me, I'm here."

Barry managed a small smile as he reached down and started unfastening his shoelaces. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"Joe called," Len said as he turned around and ambled back towards the kitchen. "He wants you to meet him at some farm in the middle of nowhere. Something about the Clyde Mardon case. Sounded pretty urgent. I gather Detective Pretty-Boy is indisposed and you were second choice. You must feel so special."  
Barry froze midway through removing his shoe. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" 

"Because I knew you'd go rushing off right away, and you look like you could use a few minutes of rest," Len said dryly. "Shall I expect you back some time tonight, or is your dinner going in the trash again?”

“I’m sorry, I - ”

“Barry. You do what you have to do. Don’t apologise to me. Go save the day, solve the case, and don’t be home too late, or I’ll kick your ass into the end of next week. Oh, and you can let Joe know that he owes me bigtime for this. The temptation to forget to pass along his little message was pretty intense, but what can I say? I’m a saint.”

Darting across the room, Barry kissed him on the cheek. Len folded his arms, but he couldn’t stop the smile that crept across his face.

“Make sure Joe knows that if anything happens to you, they’ll have to scrape him off the sidewalk to bury him.”

“I’ll pass along the message.” Barry shifted from foot to foot. “I’m so sorry about dinner, I’ll make it up to you - ”

“Barry,” Len said. “ _Go._ ”

“Right, right,” Barry said, and gratefully rushed for the door.

 

~*~

 

Considering the supposed urgency of Joe’s message, it sure didn’t feel too urgent when Barry arrived at the house and the first thing they did was pile into the car to go get Big Belly Burger. Sure, he was grateful - having skipped dinner with Len, he was starving - but at the same time, the urgency of getting takeout food was somewhat debatable.

Once they’d picked up the food, Joe drove them out to the abandoned farm where he’d confronted Mardon the last time, nine months prior. They talked, on the way - not about Mardon, but about all the things Barry had missed while he was unconscious. Iris and her journalism, random bits of news and scandal that Barry hadn’t had the chance to catch up on, stuff about S.T.A.R Labs - although obviously Barry skimped on the details of his involvement with them, mostly choosing to focus on all the tests they were running on him.

Then they parked up, dimmed all the lights and sat eating fries in companionable silence. It felt more like a mini road-trip than a stakeout, Barry reflected as he finished off his own fries and then started stealing Joe’s when he wasn’t looking.

After a while, Joe asked, “So how are things going with Leonard?”

Immediately suspicious, Barry said, “Great. Why?”

Joe held his hands up. “Whoa, Barr, sorry for taking an interest. Just trying to make conversation.”

“No, I’m sorry. I just…” There seemed little use in pointing out that people usually only brought up Leonard in order to drag him through the mud. “Things are...great actually.” Barry felt a goofy grin spread across his face. “Really good.”

“Really?” Joe gave him a sideways look. “No arguments?”

“Well, I mean, we have our moments, but show me a couple that doesn’t.”

“I guess. I just thought, you know. Must be a lot of tension in your relationship.”

Barry frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. After what he did, waiting around for nine months while you were in that coma…. That’s gotta be a lot of pressure to live up to. Talk about grand romantic gestures. I’d imagine it feels pretty intense, having something like that hanging over you. You’re gonna have a hell of a hard time living up to that.”

“Good thing I’ve got the rest of my life to make it up to him, isn’t it?” Barry said cheerfully.

“I just want you to know that you shouldn’t feel obligated to return the favour. Just because he did such a great thing, that doesn’t mean you should stick around if things aren’t working out.”

“What’s this about, Joe?”

“I just want to make sure everything is okay with you. You don’t owe Leonard anything, Barry; he chose to wait around for you, and that’s great, but if you ever decide that isn’t what you want… if you want to walk away, that’s fine. You shouldn’t feel pressured to stick by him. I want you to know that if you decide things aren’t working out, nobody’s gonna judge you for that. I’ll support you every step of the way if you decide to end it.”

“Yes, I think you’ve made that pretty clear,” Barry said sharply.

“I don’t think he’s right for you, Barr.”

Gritting his teeth, Barry prepared himself for an onslaught of the same old arguments. They’d been commonplace before the coma; he’d thought that while he was unconscious, Len and Joe had managed to settle their differences. It had been so long since Joe had encouraged him to ditch Len that Barry had actually thought he was over it. Well, as Joe had astutely pointed out, Len had waited by Barry’s bedside for nine months even though none of Barry’s friends or family wanted him there - the least Barry could do in return was to defend his honour.

“And what makes you say that?”

“Well the age difference, for a start. Leonard’s closer to my age than yours; that’s bound to cause some issues.”

“Oh, come on, Joe, you’re really gonna bring up the age thing? I could understand it if I was still a teenager, but I’m a grown man, I can make my own decisions. Age is just a number.”

“It is now,” said Joe, “but what about in a few years? You’re still young, Barry, you don’t have to settle down. In a few years, you could well end up wondering what you missed out on. Leonard’s lived his life, he’s played the field. You haven’t had that chance. You really wanna look back in ten years and think about all those experiences you’ve missed?”

“Len is all I want,” Barry said firmly. “I don’t care about the rest of it. I’ve never been a big drinker, I’m not really comfortable sleeping around... What else is there I could be missing out on? Anything I wanna do, he’ll support me.”

“I’m sure he’ll try… but there are other things you’ve got to consider. You’re still in the prime of your youth right now, but Len’s right at the start of his decline.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Barry said wryly, knowing that if he did then Len would probably show up on Joe’s doorstep with a crowbar and a chip on his shoulder. Some light teasing about his age was acceptable, but Barry knew full well it was a sensitive subject.

“You tell him,” said Joe. “Lord knows him and me have never seen eye to eye. I just want to make sure you’ve considered this. Things may be fine now, but in a few years, you might find he starts struggling to keep up with you.”

“Jesus Christ, Joe, he’s in his _forties,_ not his nineties!”

“What I’m trying to say,” Joe said loudly, “is when a man reaches a certain age, there are certain hormonal changes… certain appetites die down… and you might find that he’s not able to keep up with you... _sexually_.”

“Oh my God,” said Barry.

“That’s gonna be difficult for you, if you’re still raring to go and he’s not in the mood, that kind of thing puts strain on any relationship - ”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Barry said again, deeply traumatised.

He was reminded of an incident he had long since tried to forget, when Joe had insisted upon giving him ‘The Talk’ for the second time around, shortly after Barry had come out. Realising that school sex ed wasn’t going to give Barry any information he was actually going to need, Joe had taken matters into his own hands, in spite of Barry’s insistence that the internet had already taught him everything he needed to know. Joe had read doggedly aloud from the same website Barry had trawled a few weeks before - the internet was a much smaller place back then - while Barry buried his face in his hands and tried grimly to repress every second of it. As much as he appreciated that Joe cared, he didn’t think he’d ever heard anything more horrendous than his adopted father explaining the dangers of HIV and the importance of using a lot of lube. Anal penetration had never sounded less appealing than it did that day.

Surprisingly, Barry thought that this moment might actually be more horrific. Worst of all, it didn’t seem like it was going to end any time soon.

“I mean, I get it. I can see the appeal,” said Joe.

Barry gave him a horrified look. If Joe was about to confess some kind of attraction to Leonard, Barry was going to run to the closest convenience store, buy the biggest container of bleach he could lay his hands on and drink the whole thing in one go.

“Jesus, not like _that_ ,” Joe said, equally appalled. “I just mean that, you know, Leonard’s an older man, he’s experienced, I’m sure that must be nice - ”

“Len had never slept with another guy before he met me!”

Joe made a scathing noise; he had never accepted Len’s story that he hadn’t realised his attraction to men before he met Barry. Barry, however, could attest to the fact. The first few times they slept together had been…not bad, but a little hesitant, both of them figuring each other out. Len hid his uncertainty behind smirks and sarcasm, but there were certain gaps in his knowledge that he couldn’t feign. It wasn’t like sleeping with a virgin; Len had slept with women before and some skills were transferrable. He was good with his fingers; his hand-jobs were great, once he’d got used to the unfamiliar angle. His first attempt at a blowjob had been passable; his technique was good, clearly drawing off his own experiences of what felt good, but he had difficulty at first synchronising the movement of his hand and mouth. The sex itself had been fantastic, a lot better than Barry was expecting, once they got past all the preparation.

Now, of course, all those gaps in Len’s knowledge had been filled in with months of extensive practice. It was easy to forget sometimes that Barry had been his first; Len was confident, his technique expertly calculated to make Barry fall apart. But that made sense; aside from bits and pieces picked up from porn, everything Len knew of having sex with a man, he’d learnt from Barry. In a way, he was tailor made for him, taught to do everything that made Barry tick.

It went both ways, of course. Barry had slept with a handful of guys before Len, but never for such an extensive time period, and he knew there were things about him that had changed. He’d always been vocal in bed, but never on such a grand scale; Len encouraged it, amplified it. Previous partners would have been surprised to see how submissive Barry could be with Len in his bed; it was something Len had noticed in him and brought to the forefront, something they’d cultivated together. Moulding each other into complementary pieces. Barry liked that, the thought that they were shaping each other, becoming more and more perfect for one another. Even better, the fact that they had not been together for very long in the grand scheme of things, and that so many years stretched before them in which to keep working on this bond, to learn more and more from each other until no part of either was a mystery to the other. Barry felt warm inside at the thought.

“Barry!”

He snapped out of his reverie with reluctance. Joe was giving him a very stern look; it must have been painfully obvious what sort of thoughts had diverted Barry’s attention.

He was tired of it. Tired of constantly having to defend his partner from everyone he met, tired of no one trusting him when he said Len was a good guy, in spite of evidence to the contrary. Tired of rehashing the same old arguments and never having them listened to.

“Why are you bringing all this up again?” he demanded. “Hasn’t Len done enough? What exactly do you expect him to do? Nothing is ever good enough for you. By your own admission, he sat at my bedside for nine months and never complained, never strayed, never gave up on me!” Barry thumped the dashboard. “I thought the two of you had settled your differences while I was gone. I thought things were different now.”

“Yeah, well I made a mistake. The guy’s a con-man; he had me going for a while. But there are too many things about Leonard Snart that don’t add up, and lately, I’ve been starting to wonder if maybe I was wrong to take him at his word.” Joe sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You aren’t going to like this, Barry, and you aren’t gonna wanna hear it, but I’m asking you to listen to me for just one second. You are a vulnerable guy.” When Barry made a disgusted noise, Joe said sharply, “No, Barry, you listen to me. You are vulnerable. You wear your heart on your sleeve; you’re very free with your emotions. That’s not a bad thing, but when you open yourself up like that, you make it very easy for people to take advantage of you. You go round showing your weaknesses to everyone you meet, and before long someone’s gonna use them against you. You went through a hell of a lot when your mom died, God knows I can’t blame you if your coping mechanisms were a little unhealthy. And I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot since that lightning hit, too. God knows that can’t be easy, I know that! I’m not surprised that all this has triggered something off. Disappointed, sure, but surprised? No.

“What does surprise me is that Leonard is encouraging this. We had a very long talk the other day; he gave me a call and damn near talked my ear off about that conversation we had after you and Iris were involved in that incident with the car-chase. And what I got from that was that for some reason he’s been encouraging you with these delusions you’ve been having. That instead of trying to help you realise that this is just your mind playing tricks on you again, he’s actually been telling you that all this is real. Surely you can see why that concerns me?”

“What, that I finally have someone who listens to me? Someone who believes me, someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy? No, I can’t see how that concerns you at all, actually.”

“I think you’re being manipulated,” said Joe. “I think that for whatever reason, Leonard is encouraging you to indulge in these crazy fantasies for his own self-interest. Maybe it’s a control thing; maybe it’s some scheme to get you to cut yourself off from me and Iris - ”

“That’s ridiculous - ”

“It’s a classic abuse tactic,” Joe said calmly. “Convincing the victim that everyone is out to get them, that no one else believes in them or cares for them, and therefore persuading them to isolate themselves so the abuser is the only person they have to turn to.”

“That’s enough!” Barry said, shaking all over. In all his years of anger and frustration, he couldn’t remember being this angry with Joe - not since the weeks immediately after his mom died, when Joe seemed like the one obstacle between Barry and his dad, between his dad and freedom, between everything he wanted back.

Back then, he’d have dearly loved to hit Joe. To keep on hitting him until his knuckles bled and there was nothing left to hit. It had been a long time since Barry had felt this kind of anger; it was an ugly feeling, one he wanted no part of, but he couldn’t seem to push it down.

“I know you’re trying to help me,” he said, forcing himself to keep calm - at least on the surface. “But you don’t understand. Len has been at my side through all of this - all of it, through the coma, and me being at S.T.A.R Labs, and these arguments with you, and he has never once tried to get me to do anything I didn’t want to do! I know the two of you don’t get along, and there is nothing I can do about that. But at least if Len has a problem, he has the decency to take it to you. He doesn’t sit bitching to me about it behind your back!”

Joe did have the decency to look a little bit ashamed of himself. This didn’t do Barry’s foul mood any favours. He was half tempted to get out of the car, run straight home and tattle to Len about every word his step-father had just said, if only because he knew it wouldn’t go down at all well… but he managed to restrain himself. Just.

“Anyway, if you’re so convinced that I’m crazy and Len is just encouraging me, why exactly are we staking out this farm looking for Clyde Mardon?” he demanded.

Joe closed his eyes for a moment. “Because… I think what you said may not have been so crazy after all. Not all of it.” He looked very tired all of a sudden, as if all the arguing had taken it out of him. Good. “After...after our disagreement the other day, after you left the crime scene, Eddie came looking for me. He had an artist’s sketch of the man who robbed the Central City bank….and it looked an awful lot like Clyde Mardon.”

Barry folded his arms. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. He expected grovelling - and lots of it.

“Anyway, that wasn’t enough for me to believe that a dead man survived a plane crash and went walking around the city, so I was doing some of my own investigating. And then Leonard decided to give me a call, to let me know exactly what he thinks of me and my lack of tolerance for your mental instabilities.”

“My mental - ”

“Anyway,” Joe said loudly, cutting him off, “when he was done tearing me a new one, he made the suggestion that I might want to check out a certain bar on the other side of town. His reasons for being aware of such a seedy establishment notwithstanding, it was a good tip. There were a handful of people there who didn’t like Mardon and were willing to give me some information...namely that there had been strange things going on at some of the Mardon brothers’ old haunts. Particularly this farm. So here we are.”

“Right, so you think Len’s a liar and that he’s encouraging me with my crazy conspiracy theories… and yet you’re following up a lead that he gave you.”

Joe shrugged. “Works out for me either way. If it’s good info, we catch Mardon and put him away, and that’s one more crook off the streets. If it’s all a load of bull-crap, I get to prove to you that Leonard’s taking you for a ride and maybe arrest him for wasting police time into the bargain. Everybody wins.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” said Barry, and he opened the car door, Big Belly Burger wrappers falling to the ground at his feet. He didn’t care if he had to walk back to Central City rather than run; he’d rather _crawl_ than listen to Joe haul Len over the coals for even another minute.

He had one foot out of the car when Joe’s hand clamped down on his arm. Outraged, Barry tried to shake him off.

“You hear that?” Joe said urgently.

“Let go!”

“Shut up for a second,” Joe said.

“No, Joe, I don’t have to listen to this. You sit and wait for Mardon, because I’m not taking any more of this from you.”

He got out and slammed the car door. Joe leaned over the seat and rolled the window down. Turning his back on him, Barry started to storm off.

“Barry! You get your ass back in this car, you hear me?”

“Oh, I hear you, Joe, but I’m not - ”

A flicker of movement in Barry’s peripheral vision caught his eye. Frowning, he turned. He was just in time to see what appeared to be a shadowy figure slipping into the barn and out of sight.

Barry’s forehead furrowed. It had started to drizzle, and he peered through the rain trying to figure out if he’d really seen what he thought he’d seen. Cursing, Joe got out of the car and tramped to Barry’s side.

“God damnit, Barry, this is a stakeout, it is _not_ the time to be having a strop - ”

“I think I saw something,” Barry said quietly. “Someone moving. Over there.” He pointed to the barn.

Instantly, Joe stiffened. He pulled out his gun. “Barry, get in the car.”

“What? No, I -”

“I only brought you here because I thought it was a dead end; I never expected anyone to actually show up. You’re a CSI, Barry, not a cop. This is dangerous. I want you to get back in the car and wait for me, and if I’m not back in five minutes, I need you to radio for help.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with Mardon!”

“We don’t know that it is Mardon,” Joe said reasonably. “It may not be anything at all. It could be some bum sleeping rough, taking shelter from the rain. I just want to take precautions. Do me a favour and just get in the car?”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Barry - ”

“If that is Mardon in there, he could bolt at any time. We need to get in there now.”

Joe stood for a moment, wrestling with himself. Then, he made a frustrated sound.

“You stay behind me, and if things go wrong, you get your ass out of here and call for help.”

He started to advance on the barn, not lowering his gun for a second.

It seemed to take an age to reach the barn. Part of this was Joe being stealthy; part of it was that Barry was moving a little too quickly, hovering right on the brink of using his speed. The whole world seemed slower around him. He moved like a cat at Joe’s side, ignoring the order to fall behind.

The barn door creaked horribly when Joe pushed it open, a drawn out groan like an animal in pain. They stepped tentatively into the barn. The temperature in there was frigid. Fog swirled around their feet, seeping through Barry’s clothes like clammy fingers brushing against his skin. Very little light came through - so little that he almost missed the figure in the corner, shoulders hunched like a vulture’s. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have spotted Mardon at all if the man hadn’t shifted slightly, making both Joe and Barry freeze. Joe pointed his gun directly at Mardon’s head.

Mardon looked awful. His hair was plastered to his skull, stringy with grease. He wore an oily baseball cap and a loose-hanging tracksuit that could definitely have used a wash. The way he moved was odd - jerky and uncoordinated, like he wasn’t quite sure how his own body worked. But his eyes were worst of all. They glittered manically, sunken back into his head like caverns. His eyes flickered to Barry for a moment, dismissed him, and immediately settled on Joe. Tongue flickering out of his mouth, Mardon licked his lips with a rasp that carried right across the barn. There was a disconcertingly hungry look on his face.

“Stand down, Mardon,” Joe warned.

“Detective West.” Mardon’s voice grated like machinery in dire need of oiling. “I hoped you’d come.” He raised his hands as if in welcome, showing off dirty palms.

“I guess it’s too much to ask for you to come quietly.”

“Quietly?” Mardon laughed. The sound made Barry’s skin crawl. “Oh, I’m not going quietly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m afraid I have to insist,” said Joe, flicking off the safety on his gun.

There was a loaded pause. Barry looked anxiously between Joe and Mardon. Joe’s expression was steely, but determined. Mardon, however, didn’t seem to care that there was a gun pointed at him.

“What are you gonna do, _Joe_? Shoot me?”

“If I have to.”

Mardon gave him an eerie smile. “Try it. You’ll find I don’t play so nicely this time.”

“You call shooting my partner ‘playing nice’?”

“Well, it can’t have worked too well, or you wouldn’t have brought along another one.” Mardon’s gaze flickered over to Barry. “I hope you didn’t get too attached to this one. I’ve got a few tricks under my sleeve that you might not like.”

“Last chance, Mardon. Turn yourself in, or I will shoot you.”

Mardon took a step closer. To Joe’s credit, he didn’t flinch, but his grip tightened on the gun.

“You think you can shoot me?” Mardon said. “You think you can shoot God?”

“What the hell are you babbling about?”

“I almost died that night,” Mardon said, as if to himself. “When the plane went down. I should have. But somebody intervened. I didn’t know why, at first. Now I do.” He smiled strangely. “I was chosen, Detective. I can do things you can’t even imagine.”

His hands had fallen limply to his sides. The mist around their feet was swirling agitatedly, growing thicker. A breeze had picked up, ruffling Barry’s hair, making Joe’s jacket flap slightly. It seemed especially strong around Mardon, playing with the stringy strands of his hair.

“Joe...” Barry said.

“Not now, Barr,” Joe said. He took a step closer to Mardon. “Put your hands up, Mardon. I’m not fooling around.”

“Neither am I,” said Mardon. “You can’t shoot God.”

A blast of wind rocked the barn, all the loose planks of wood banging, scraps of hay and grass whirling around their heads. Dust rose up into the air, grit stinging Barry’s face. The wind howled, tearing at his clothes, screaming in his ears. Joe threw a hand up to protect his face as more detritus snatched itself off the floor and flew to join the maelstrom flying around Mardon’s head. The crook didn’t seem to feel the wind, or acknowledge the dirt blasting him in the face. Instead he was watching Joe, panting with exhilaration.

Joe fired, the gunshot louder than a firework going off. Mardon dodged the bullet and flung a hand towards the barn doors, which were torn off their hinges in a tremendous gust of wind; they went flying off into the night with a crash, and Mardon stormed towards the exit, cutting through the turbulence of the wind as if it wasn’t even there. Joe and Barry gave chase.

Mardon kept walking, facing none of the difficulties that Barry and Joe did as they battled the gale. Wind continued to batter at them, more and more debris being caught up in the storm Mardon was creating. When he had reached the centre of the nearby field, he turned to face them, arms held out at his sides.

A twister lurched up from the ground, swallowing Mardon up in an inferno of wind and smoke. It reached for the sky, the wind still howling triumphantly. Clouds had gathered; Barry could barely hear a thing over the sound of his clothes flapping violently and over the screaming of the wind. Joe was yelling something beside him, but Barry couldn’t look away from the spot where Mardon had vanished, engulfed by the twister that was sucking at everything around them, snatching everything in. He could feel its pull, trying to tear him and Joe off their feet. Struggling to keep his balance, Barry dug his heels into the ground.

He had to do something.

Barry was no weather expert, but a twister of that size could do god knows how much damage, and it was still growing. He could hear the alarm on Joe’s car shrieking as the car rocked in the wind, heard a colossal bang as the front wheels lifted slightly off the ground with the turbulence and then slammed back down again.

He imagined the twister tearing through the city, destroying everything. Iris would be at home right now, working on an article; he visualised the windows being blown out, glass flying everywhere, imagined the house being engulfed. Len was at home alone, where Barry had left him; he would be caught up in it. There would be no escaping it, especially not on the third floor, where their apartment was. The whole roof could be torn off, and Len would be at the mercy of the storm.

Or even worse, he might leave the apartment to try and find Barry.

A horrible image filled Barry’s mind: Len, fighting through the streets, running towards the source of the twister rather than away from it. Getting caught up in the whirlwind, battered by all the fence panels and garbage cans and trees that would be torn loose by the storm, and all the while having no idea what had happened or where Barry might be.

Lightning prickled across the surface of Barry’s skin, making all the hairs on his arms stand on end.

He ran.

He ran away from the twister, away from Joe and Mardon and the farm. If he could just make it back to the apartment, he could get Len out of town, and when he was a safe distance away he could go back for Iris and Joe and his friends. He’d have to stop off at S.T.A.R Labs, although he had no idea how the hell he was going to move Doctor Wells; he couldn’t run with the wheelchair -

S.T.A.R Labs.

Barry changed direction so fast that he almost collided with a passing car. A blast on the horn seared his ears, but he was past the car and several blocks away before the sound had even had a chance to properly register. The suit was at S.T.A.R Labs. Cisco and Caitlin were at S.T.A.R Labs. They would help him stop this; he couldn’t just leave the city to be torn up by a twister, couldn’t leave Joe at the mercy of Mardon.

He blew into S.T.A.R Labs, skidded violently and found himself face to face with Cisco, who was holding a cup of coffee and looking bewildered.

“Barry, what the - ?”

Barry grabbed Cisco’s shoulders. “I need the suit, where is it?”

“Third door on your right,” Cisco said, pointing, “but - ”

Barry didn’t wait for the ‘but’. He burst into the room Cisco had indicated and threw on the suit so fast he was amazed it didn’t tear. Then he was out through the door again, switching on his comms, praying to God that Cisco had already got everything up and running.

“Guys, we’re in trouble. There’s an incident at the farm; Clyde Mardon, he’s a metahuman. He can control the weather and he’s creating a giant twister that’s headed straight for the city.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Cisco hissed in the comms, and Barry went weak with relief. Lowering his head, he focused on running faster. “ _What do we do_?”

“I was hoping you guys could help me with that,” Barry said, and then he blurred back into the field, where Joe was backing frantically away from the twister.

He had his gun pointed at it, like he could force the wind to back down by shooting at it. Looking frantically around himself, Joe kept yelling Barry’s name in evident panic.

Barry sped to Joe’s side. “Joe, I’m here, it’s me!”

Joe squinted at him, peering through the flying dust and straw to try and get a good look. “Barr?” he yelled. “What are you wearing?”

“I’ll explain later!” Barry yelled back. “You need to get out of here, before that twister gets any worse!”

“I can’t leave Mardon! Whatever he’s doing could destroy the entire city!”

The twister had already made short work of the barn. It was little more than a framework now, half of the wood torn away, hanging off unevenly, the rest being tugged at by the wind. Even as Barry turned to look, a few more planks came away. It was how he imagined the house of sticks in The Three Little Pigs story, once the wolf was done with it. Barry could hardly believe that barn had been holding up solidly above their heads just minutes before.

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more,” he said quietly.

His words were snatched away by the wind. Joe was backing off from the twister, tugging on Barry’s arm.

“We have to stop Mardon, can you see him?”

“Let me handle it,” Barry shouted.

“Are you crazy?”

Barry let himself feel the impact of Joe’s words. They stung just as much as they ever had; he was irrevocably reminded of their conversation the other day, when Joe had accused him of imagining all of this, of dreaming up Mardon’s powers because he was traumatised. He stared Joe right in the face.

“I’m not crazy!” Barry said. “I was right. This proves it. And I’m right about this. Let me fix it!”

“How the hell do you expect to fix something like this, Barry? Mardon’s a god, or the closest I’ve ever seen to one! You’re just a man!”

“I’m not just any man,” Barry said. “I’m the Flash.”

And he ran straight at the twister.

It seemed like a great idea in the moment, when he was being dramatic and proving a point to Joe, but he realised almost immediately that it was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done. He didn’t have a plan. Launching himself at the wind currents, he got a momentary glimpse of Mardon standing in the eye of the storm, staring into the sky with his arms outstretched. Then Barry was buffeted back out of the maelstrom and propelled back, almost falling. He tripped and skidded and caught himself with one gloved hand, then grimly pushed himself back to his feet. All this speed and no idea how to use it.

“A little help, guys!” he shouted. “What do I do?”

“ _I don’t know, nobody wrote us a damn manual!_ ” said Cisco. _“What’s happening_?”

“There’s a huge twister! Mardon’s at the centre of it. I think once it gets big enough, he’s gonna direct it towards the city.” Barry’s head was spinning. How to stop Mardon without getting near him? The man was safely encased inside the wind tunnel, and Barry had no way inside. As long as the twister kept spinning, getting larger and larger, he hadn’t a hope in hell of stopping the man.

He had to stop the twister first.

“What if I unravel it?”

“ _What_?” Caitlin cried.

“If I run around it in the opposite direction, maybe I can unravel it somehow. How fast would I have to go?”

There were a few tense moments of silence in which he imagined Cisco and Caitlin, pale and afraid, conferring. Making calculations. All the while Barry’s heart pounded frantically against his ribcage like a terrified bird. His hands shook. Joe stood only a few hundred metres away, relying on him. Back at the apartment, Len probably had no idea there was even anything going on. Nor did Iris. If he didn’t stop Mardon now, who else could? There was no one else to stop him from tearing apart the city above their heads.

That thought steadied his resolve. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He stretched his muscles, tried to unpick the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He had to do this - for his family.

“How fast, Caitlin?”

“ _Roughly seven hundred miles per hour_ ,” Caitlin said, “ _but Barry, there’s no guaranteeing your body could hold up under that, I don’t know if you could withstand it_ \- ”

“I can,” Barry said. “I’m fast enough. I have to be fast enough.” He sank to the ground, getting into a crouch, ready to push off. Adrenaline coursed through him, making his whole body thrum. He could feel the lightning dancing underneath his skin, singing through him, raring to go. All he had to do was let it. All he needed to do was _run._

“ _Barry, you don’t understand,” Caitlin said frantically. “Even if you’re physically capable of maintaining that kind of speed, your body might not be able to handle the pressure! You could_ die _._ ”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to try.”

“ _Barry_!” Caitlin cried, but he was already running.

He didn’t think.There was no time. No space in his head, no spare energy for doubts. Everything had to go into running, pushing himself faster than he’d ever gone before. Up until this point, running had been fun and exhilarating. Now, it was frightening - not only because he was going so fast, but because of how much was riding on him being fast _enough._

Round and round he went, flashing around the twister so rapidly that it made him dizzy. He kept pushing himself harder. His lungs screamed, his muscles burned, his head pounded. His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that it wasn’t going to be enough.

“How fast am I going?”

“ _Not fast enough_ ,” Cisco warned. “ _Come on, Barry, you can do this_.”

Not fast enough? Barry’s heart sank. How could he go any faster than this? He wasn’t capable, he couldn’t push himself any more, everyone was going to die and it would all be on him -

He tripped.

Barry went skidding several feet, winding up on his face in the dirt. There was mud streaked all across the visible portion of his face, dirt in his mouth, grass stains on the suit. His whole body screamed in protest. He felt the lightning inside him fizzle and die as normal speed resumed. Groaning, he lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. The twister, which had been easing off slightly, resumed its frantic whirling. Barry slammed his fist against the ground.

“I can’t,” he panted. “I’m not fast enough, I can’t stop it - ”

“ _Yes, you can_."

Barry jerked, his whole body going rigid with shock. “Doctor Wells?”

 _“I’m here, Barry. I’m here to tell you that you can do this. You can go faster. You are fast enough, Barry, the tests we’ve shown more than prove that. The only thing holding you back is you_.”

“You said I wasn’t a hero,” Barry said, pushing himself up onto one knee. “I heard you. You said I was just an ordinary guy.”

“ _I was wrong_ ,” said Doctor Wells. _“No ordinary man would have been given these extraordinary abilities. Cisco was right, Barry. The things you can do can’t be restrained. You are wasted in a lab. All the tests in the world can’t do what you can do for this city right this second._ ”

Breathing hard, Barry forced himself to his feet and shook himself out. Pain radiated through him where he’d hit the floor; he pushed past it. He’d heal soon enough. But he’d be damned if he’d let this city be consumed by a twister because he’d tripped and skinned his elbow.

“ _You can do this, Barry. I believe in you_.”

In spite of the howling of the wind, Joe’s car alarm still blaring, and the sound of Barry’s own pulse thundering in his ears, he calmed at the sound of Wells’ words. He dropped back down into his runner’s stance, getting ready for an almighty push.

“ _Run, Barry_ !” Wells whispered. “Run _._ ”

Like a rocket, Barry exploded forwards in a shower of dirt clods and dust. He ran straight at the twister, around and around. This time, he didn’t focus on trying to be faster immediately. Speed was something he could build up to, increasing on every pass. Every time he completed a circle around the outside of the twister, he pushed himself a little harder, a little further. He closed his eyes and focused. Not on Mardon. Not on his fear that he wouldn’t be fast enough. Not even on Len and Iris, or his friends at S.T.A.R Labs. This time, he just focused on running. Letting himself get snatched up by his speed, allowing it to become not just a part of him, but all of him.

“ _That’s it, Barry, you’re at seven hundred, keep going_!” Caitlin cried.

Barry’s eyes snapped open. He’d done it. All he had to do was maintain. To keep going round. It was so much easier now, not forcing himself so much. He’d been going about things the wrong way. It wasn’t a push - it was allowing himself to be unmoored. Taken along for the ride.

And then all of a sudden the twister dispersed into a few wispy tendrils of fog and he was running through nothing, spiralling around Mardon, who had collapsed to his knees in the dirt.

It took a moment for Barry to figure out how to stop, but eventually he managed to stagger to a halt. All of a sudden Mardon seemed very small. He was staring at the ground beneath his feet like he didn’t quite understand what was keeping him there.

“Give it up, Mardon,” Barry said. “It’s over.”

Slowly, Mardon raised his head. His whole body had sagged. “Who _are_ you?”

“I’m the Flash,” Barry said.

“I thought I was the only one. I thought I was a God.”

“You’re not a God. You’re just an asshole.” Barry held out a gloved hand. “Come on. It’s time to go. We’ve got a nice cosy cell at the CCPD with your name on it.”

Mardon stared at Barry’s outstretched hand. Then, he flung out a hand of his own, a gust of wind buffeting Barry back, almost bowling him off his feet -

The gunshot made Barry jump out of his skin. Mardon slumped and fell back, a dark stain already spreading across the chest of his filthy hoodie.

Someone grabbed Barry from behind. “Barr, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Joe, I’m okay - ” Clinging to his stepfather, Barry said numbly, “you shot him.”

“Damn right I shot him. Who knows what that crazy son of a bitch was gonna do to you?”

Silently, Barry stood and looked at Mardon. The man had been about to destroy the city. He’d been wound up with hubris and nastiness, and maybe yeah, a little unhinged on top of all that. But could Barry blame him, really? If there had been no Doctor Wells to explain all of this to him, it was entirely possible he could have lost it too, just like Mardon. He felt a strange sense of kinship to the body on the floor, battered and broken as it was. _He was like me._

Joe tucked his gun away. “Okay, I’m gonna call for reinforcements. But first, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Let’s start with where the hell you got that monkey suit.”

 

~*~

 

When Barry trudged wearily up the stairs to his apartment, it was creeping towards four a.m. The clean-up had taken a lot longer than expected. He’d had time to zip back to S.T.A.R Labs to change his clothes before any other cops arrived on the scene, but since then it had all been statements and interviews and crime-scene photos, repeating the same story over and over again, shivering while he waited for it all to be over.

Next time, he resolved, he’d be sure to be well clear of the crime scene by the time the cops showed, and avoid all of this. It was all too much hassle.

Mardon’s death wasn’t being ruled as suspicious. It was self-defence; everyone knew the guy had a vendetta against Joe and after the stunt he’d pulled at the bank, no one doubted that he was dangerous. Barry was intensely relieved; he didn’t think he could have handled Joe being taken to jail on top of everything else.

He unlocked the door, and found to his surprise that Len was sat on the couch with a book open in his lap. When Barry entered, Len looked up. His expression changed immediately from relief to shock.

“What the hell happened?”

“Huh?"

Crossing the room, Len reached out to touch Barry’s cheek. “There’s mud all over your face, what the hell have you been doing?”

“The, uh.” Barry coughed. “The stake-out didn’t go entirely to plan. Mardon was at the farm; he attacked us.”

“Shit,” Len said, his hands flying frantically across Barry’s skin. “Are you hurt? Did he get you? I should have put the son of a bitch down the second I saw him in that bar - ”

“Relax, Len, it’s been taken care of. Joe shot him. He won’t be bothering us anymore.”

Len hugged him.

For a moment Barry was too astonished to respond. They cuddled plenty, could spend hours in bed or on the couch curled around each other like a couple of cats, but as a rule Len wasn’t much of a hugger. Still, he supposed things must have changed in nine months. Sighing, he rested his head on Len’s shoulder and let some of the tension drain out of him. God. He’d been so worried. If it hadn’t been for Cisco, Caitlin and Doctor Wells, the whole city would have been torn apart by now, and Len…

Barry shivered. No use in torturing himself now. It was all over. He buried his face in Len’s neck, breathing him in.

Len stepped back, holding Barry at arm’s length. “What did I tell you about not? Getting? Hurt?” he growled, jabbing Barry in the chest with his finger.

“I mean, I recall you being pretty specific about not getting hit by lightning, but I don’t think you ever said anything about a near-death experience with a delusional criminal…”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Len said. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Barry asked, stumbling along after him. “It’s late, I’m tired... can’t we just go to bed?”

“You’re a mess. I’m not letting you in my bed with dirt all over your face.”

Sitting Barry down on the toilet, Len started carefully daubing the mud off his face. Barry closed his eyes. He’d forgotten about what a state he was in. Dirt flaked off in huge chunks, peeling away from his face. Len was unusually gentle with him, taking his time to clean it all away.

“Definitely going to have to put you on a leash. Can’t trust you to go a single day without something ridiculous happening.”

“Well I mean, you gave Joe the lead that led us to Mardon. So technically this is your fault.”

“Not my fault that you run headlong into danger at every opportunity. Any sensible person would have told Joe to go screw himself and stayed at home to eat pizza with me.”

“I guess,” Barry said. He sighed. “I was right about Mardon. The weather thing. There was this huge storm… I thought the whole city was gonna go down.”

“So what happened?”

Barry hesitated. He should tell Len about all of it. About what he’d done. Being the Flash, saving the city. He was under strict instructions not to tell Iris, but Joe had never said anything about Len.

Even so, his stepfather’s words resonated strongly in the back of his mind. This was dangerous. That was why Joe didn’t want Iris involved. What kind of a boyfriend would Barry be to drag Len into this too? For a start, if he did, Len would never sleep at night again. He already stressed about Barry’s wellbeing, without the knowledge that his significant other was a superhero.

If danger came knocking again, Barry would go in speedforce blazing. This time, he wouldn’t be scared. This time, he’d be ready.

Len wouldn’t understand.

“Joe shot him,” he said. “That was the end of it.”

Not a lie, he reminded himself. Just a slightly edited version of the truth. He’d just cut a few bits of the story out, that was all.

“Good,” said Len, dabbing at a particularly stubborn bit of dirt on Barry’s cheekbone. “Mardon was an asshole. Everyone I spoke to agreed upon it. That’s why they were all so keen to sell him out.” He dropped the cloth into the sink. “Done. You could probably use a shower, but I won’t insist on it. You might drown yourself by accident.”

“I’m not that hopeless,” Barry snorted, opening his eyes. He took a deep breath. There was one thing he _did_ need to tell Len about. “Joe believes me,” he said. “About Mardon. About all of it, all the supernatural stuff, he believes me now.”

Len frowned. “You’re sure?”

“He saw Mardon create a twister with his own two eyes. After seeing something like that… I guess nobody could stay a sceptic.” He reached out to hold Len’s hands. “He believes me about my dad, too. All of it. And he’s promised to help clear my dad’s name. He’s going to reopen the case.”

“Barry,” Len said. He gripped his hands. “That’s…”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Barry said. “Maybe with Joe on my side, I can finally get my dad back.”

Len defied all odds by hugging him again.

They stayed for a while like that, just holding each other. Barry got all teary-eyed and had to mop his eyes on the shoulder of Len’s shirt. Graciously, Len pretended not to notice.

When they eventually separated, Len took his hands again. “That’s amazing, Barry,” he said softly. “And I want you to know that I’ll do anything I can. Anything I can do to help, I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes, we’ll get your dad out of there, Barry.”

“I know,” Barry said, beaming like a fool.

He’d spent so many years waiting for this - for Joe to finally believe him, for someone else to be on his side in the endless crusade of getting his dad out of prison. Len had always been in his corner when it came to his Dad being innocent, but Barry had never even dared to broach the subject of a new verdict. He’d never allowed himself to hope before. But now, his entire body was alight with it.

“I love you so much,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Len said. “Whatever. Let’s get to bed, Scarlet. If we’re going to reopen this case, we’ve got a lot of work to do. I need my beauty sleep.”

They slipped into bed in silence, Barry immediately rolling over to curl into Len’s side. Len rolled his eyes as he switched off the light, but once they were plunged into darkness, he pulled Barry’s closer and kissed the top of his head.

“I love you, too,” he murmured into Barry’s hair. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Barry said happily, snuggling more closely against him. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap for 1x01 :D as you can tell, this is a long-ass rewrite. some episodes are this sort of length, others are shorter, and others are probably longer - but yeah, we're well on the way :D
> 
> enjoying the fic so far?? come say hi on [tumblr](http://coldflasher.tumblr.com/), or check out some of my other social media [here](https://capricioushelen.weebly.com/community) :) (i'm super close to 1,000 subscribers on youtube, so if you're interested in books, particularly of the queer variety, i'm your girl!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for mentions of alcohol, vomiting, nudity (but in a non-sexual context)

There was so much to do in the aftermath of his fight with Mardon. Barry didn’t think his life had ever been so hectic.

He’d had work, obviously. Captain Singh had welcomed him back with open arms, presented him with a bunch of case files a mile long, and then ordered him to get to work. Apparently he didn’t want Barry to miss out on nine months worth of paperwork. Generous of him, Barry thought grimly as he staggered around with the heap of files, praying he wouldn’t drop any.

Then there were all the basic things - nice, normal things. Spending time with Iris, getting caught up on everything he’d missed. Len was busy with work, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was usually with Mick, but Barry didn’t mind. After all, they’d had a few quiet, perfect weeks just after he woke up and everything started changing. 

What he did appreciate was that in his free time, Len was doing his best to help with his dad’s investigation. He had spent a good two hours in Barry’s crime lab one evening with the entire contents of Barry’s cork-board spread out on the floor in front of them, sifting through it all to try and get all the notes and theories and articles into some kind of cohesive order. The set of Len’s shoulders and his terse responses told Barry that Len didn’t like being in the lab one little bit - understandable; there were a lot of negative connotations to the place, seeing as Barry had been carted out of there on a stretcher and not woken up for another nine months - but he stuck around. Barry appreciated that more than he could say.

Joe too was throwing himself into the investigation, clearly guilty about his role in the whole business. He kept dredging up case files from years back, trying to find inconsistencies, looking for more clues. A part of Barry hadn’t expected Joe to get so involved, and yet there he was. It wasn’t going to wash away all of Barry’s resentment overnight - under the surface, he couldn’t quite make himself forget that it had taken a rampaging metahuman to get Joe to stop calling him a liar, that his word had never been good enough - but it was a start.

And when he wasn’t working, trying to sort out his dad’s case, or hanging out with Len or Iris, he was at S.T.A.R Labs, training. He didn’t want to be caught unawares by another meta ever again - and if Mardon was out there, he was certain there must be more of them. A quick flip through crime stats for the city over the past nine months had only solidified his suspicions: there were metas in Central City, and they had been busy. And the Flash was going to be ready for them.

But in the meantime, he had other concerns. Standing in front of the mirror, Barry fidgeted with his shirt, trying to get it to look right. He was wearing a tie. Was this the right occasion for a tie? This was his big night, he would be parading in front of a whole room full of people, demonstrating how very not-comatose he was. No, this wasn’t an appropriate time to wear a tie. Frustrated, he ripped it off and stuffed it down the back of the sofa.

“Relax,” Len said. “You look great.”

“This was a terrible idea. I can’t throw a party. I babble too much. I never have anything interesting to say. Everyone’s gonna ask if I heard them talking to me when I was in the coma and I’ll have to tell them I don’t remember anything and they’re gonna be really disappointed and it’ll be boring and awkward and - ”

“ _ Barry, _ ” Len said. 

He crossed the room and tugged on Barry’s shirt, untucking it from his pants. Barry closed his eyes and groaned. He  _ knew  _ tucking his shirt in looked stupid. He’d been going for the smart look; instead, he just looked like a dork.

“It’ll be fine,” Len said, brushing imaginary lint off Barry’s shirt. “And if things get too awkward, just give me a signal and I’ll come and save you. Everyone knows I’m the jealous type.” He stepped back to admire him. “There. You look fine. Stop messing with your outfit, or I’ll tie your hands behind your back.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” Barry grumbled. “You always look the same.” Dark jeans. Combat boots. Leather jacket. The ever-present pinky ring. The staples of any Leonard Snart outfit. 

“I always look good, though. I found an aesthetic that works for me. You should try it.”

“I kind of like owning more than one outfit, actually, but - ”

Len held a hand up. “Hold that thought.” He checked his phone. “We have to go, or we’re going to be late. Not fashionably, either.” Stowing the phone back in his pocket, he said, “You look fine. Quit fussing. It’s going to be a great night.”

“You’re right,” said Barry, taking a deep breath. He held out his hand, which Len took. His fingers were reassuringly cool against Barry’s sweaty palm. “Let’s go.”

 

~*~

 

The party, thus far, had been a resounding success.

Barry was feeling on top of the world. He had a badass superhero suit, he’d kicked Mardon’s ass and nobody was any the wiser - except Joe, who was still more than a little overwhelmed by the whole thing. Meanwhile, Barry was surrounded by people from the precinct, his friends, family, and Leonard. The only person missing was his dad, and while Barry felt the loss keenly, he had to admit that it was hardly an unfamiliar feeling.

They’d rented a small, kind of crappy club for the evening, an establishment of dubious nature and even more dubious standards of hygiene, but Len had been able to sweet-talk the owner and get them a good deal; the drinks were cheap, the lights were bright, and the music was bearable. Besides which, most of the cops were too drunk to give a shit about the seediness of the establishment. Also too drunk to notice the little band of reprobates holed up in the back corner.

It was a risk, inviting Len and his friends to the party. Although Len had never gone into detail about his prior criminal convictions, he’d said enough to suggest that none of his friends were squeaky clean in the crime department. Even having Len there alone would have been a risk, if he’d ever fallen foul of any of the cops in this room. Barry knew that, and he was fairly certain Joe also knew that, which was probably why he’d invited him. 

Still, Barry was relying upon goodwill, alcohol and poor lighting to keep things from going sour. Len and his friends had wisely taken up residence in a dark corner, all of them with their backs to the wall so that they had a good view of anyone approaching. They kept to themselves, and Len kept them all in line. So far, nobody had started any arguments. Barry was a little concerned about Mick, but thus far he seemed to be behaving himself.

In fact, the greatest challenge of the evening so far was downing all the drinks everyone kept pushing at him and trying to circulate, ensuring that nobody got left out. He shook hands with dozens of people from work, including people he’d not spoken to in god knows how long, people who’d moved departments or changed shifts. Oliver, Felicity and Diggle had shown up, which created a certain amount of awe among the other guests. Barry caught several people gawping and several more taking sneaky photos, which must have irritated Oliver to no end. He looked as morbid as ever, jaw grimly set like the party was some form of medieval torture created specifically to torment him. This struck Barry as sad, since he’d been told that before Lian Yu, Oliver Queen had been quite the party animal.

It struck him as kind of funny, too. He wished he had a little paper party hat to stick on Oliver’s head - not that he’d have dared. 

Felicity waved eagerly over at him from their table and Barry raised a hand in return. He’d already sat with her for several minutes, and persuaded Cisco and Caitlin to join them. Doctor Wells had declined his invitation. Barry was disappointed, but not surprised; many of his other guests had lost someone - or multiple people - on the night of the particle accelerator explosion, and Wells would not be welcome in their midst.

As much as Barry would have liked to go and sit with Felicity again, there was another group he needed to visit. Neatly dodging Eddie Thawne, Joe’s new partner, who appeared to have had a few too many and had already cornered Barry once for a very earnest conversation, Barry made a beeline for the one table he had thus far avoided:  Leonard’s.

 

~*~

 

Len watched Barry approach with a small smirk. The kid was adorably flustered, unused to all of this attention. Hair ruffled, over-shirt unbuttoned due to the heat. He looked damn good, and Len was not at all ashamed to admit that he was enjoying the view. As he headed for the table where Len and his friends sat, Barry carefully skirted Joe’s new partner, whom Iris had dubbed ‘Detective Pretty-Boy’. It was not, Len had to admit, an unearned nickname; Thawne was blonde and kind of cute, if the puppy look was your thing. Considering who Len was dating, maybe that  _ was  _ his thing. 

None of this made him feel any better about Detective Thawne hanging off Barry’s elbow, but to his pleasure, Barry gently brushed Thawne off and headed straight for Len’s table, beaming. Len felt a truly sickening rush of warmth come across him and thought that if he’d ever realised he was going to turn into such a sap, he’d have shot himself years ago. It was really most unbecoming of a criminal.

“Hey, guys!” Barry said cheerfully, dropping into the empty seat at their table. “How’s it hanging?”

“How’s what hanging?” Mick growled. 

“Uh,” Barry said. “I just meant, are you guys enjoying the party?”

“Too many cops, not enough booze. Ask me again when I’ve had a lot more to drink.”

“Play nice, Mick,” Len warned. “If you ruin the party, I’ll break your nose.” 

Barry looked understandably alarmed by this threat - perhaps because he knew Len wouldn’t hesitate to carry it out - so Len smiled disarmingly and put an arm around him. 

“It’s great to see you, Barry,” Lisa said, saving the day as usual. “It was awful seeing you in that coma. We were all so worried.”

“I wasn’t,” said Mick.

“Drink your sambuca,” Lisa said, with steel in her tone. Then, she beamed at Barry. “We have so much catching up to do. I have ten new embarrassing stories to tell you about things Lenny did while you were gone. And I want to hear all about what it was like to get hit by lightning, because that’s one thing I’ve never tried. I want to know what it’s like."

“As an experience, I wouldn’t recommend it,” Barry said. “There was an awful lot of unconsciousness involved.”

“Do you have a cool scar?” Mick demanded. “I heard that  lightning leaves a cool scar.”

“Oh, you mean like a Lichtenberg Figure? Yeah, uh, I don’t have that.”

Mick made a disgruntled sound. 

“But uh,” Barry said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I collapsed into a shelf full of scientific equipment after I got hit. Some of the test tubes shattered on impact; I think I might have a scar from that, if you want to see it.”

“Maybe later,” said Lisa, picking up her drink and draining it in one swallow. 

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a shadow looming over them. They all looked up. Joe was stood by their table, looking anxious. If Len had just unwittingly interrupted a table full of career criminals, he might have looked nervous too - except Joe wasn’t looking at Mick, who would have happily bludgeoned him over the head just for the offence of being a cop, or Lisa, who could probably kill with a well-placed glare. He was looking at Barry, and sweating visibly. Somehow, Len didn’t think it was the heat of the club that was making Joe perspire.

“Barry, can I talk to you for a second?”

Barry frowned. “We’re kind of in the middle of a conversation right now.”

“It’s important.”

Bewildered, Barry got to his feet. “Alright.” He gave them an apologetic glance. “I’ll be right back.”

The two of them started heading towards the bar, where Iris was already waiting. Len’s gaze followed the path that Barry and Joe were about to take, and then the lights flashed just right and he caught sight of the person stood beside Iris, and he suddenly realised why Joe looked so nervous.

“This means trouble,” he muttered.

Downing the rest of his drink, he got up from the table. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and headed out across the dancefloor in pursuit.

 

~*~

 

“What’s this all about?” Barry asked as Joe led him to the bar.

Iris was already there waiting for him, looking almost as anxious as Joe did. Beside her was a kid - college age, by the look of him - who was trying to smile and not doing a great job of it. He looked sweet, Barry thought, but also incredibly uncomfortable. And Barry was almost certain they’d never met before. He’d certainly never put this guy’s name on the guest list. 

Joe interrupted his train of thought. “Barry, this is Wally.”

“Hey, man, nice to meet you,” Barry said, and shook Wally’s hand. His palm was clammy; Barry refrained from wiping his hand on his shirt with some difficulty. “Uh, unless we’ve met before. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“We’ve never been introduced,” Wally said. He tried another weak smile.

“Wally is my son,” Joe said.

Barry thought he’d misheard. He blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Turns out that when Francine - that’s Iris’ mom - when she left, she was pregnant. I didn’t know about it at the time, obviously, but she got in touch recently - she was kind of sick - and now Wally’s come to live with us.” 

“Your son,” Barry repeated. He felt like he’d been hit over the head with something very heavy.

“My brother,” Iris said. “He’s a real pain in the ass, but I guess that’s what little brothers are all about, right?” She elbowed Wally playfully in the ribs, but there was something strained about her expression.

This couldn’t be happening. Barry felt sick. It was stupid, and probably greedy since he already had a dad, but he’d always kind of considered Joe to be his father. His  _ other  _ father. And then he’d been struck by lightning and apparently Joe had gotten another son during his absence. The way Iris was with Wally suggested that she knew him well, that she was comfortable with him. The way they were all smiling, even though it was a little strained, made his stomach hurt. The three of them looked like a family; Barry had always stuck out like a sore thumb between them, for obvious reasons, but Wally looked like he belonged. He’d slipped into the hole Barry had left and fitted into it better than Barry ever had.

All of a sudden there was a palm splayed across the small of his back. “Mind if I interrupt?” Leonard asked.

The relief that rushed through him at the sound of Leonard’s voice was staggering. Barry leaned against him, feeling Len take his weight. An arm snaked around his waist, Len’s fingers squeezing reassuringly against his hip.

“I do, actually,” Joe said.

“Too bad,” said Len. “I’m going to get some air. Barry looks like he’s had a little too much to drink.”

Actually, Barry wasn’t even close to drunk in spite of the copious amounts of alcohol he’d been forcing down all evening. Considering that everyone in the building had been buying him drinks all night, he was starting to have the nasty suspicion that he couldn’t actually get drunk - which sucked, because he could really, really do with being intoxicated right now. 

He was pretty sure Len knew full well that he wasn’t drunk, because he’d seen Barry off his face before and there was usually a lot more giggling involved. Regardless, he seized gratefully upon this excuse.

“I think I’m going to puke,” he said faintly.

“Okay, let’s get you outside,” Len said, and steered him out into the cold.

The cold air slammed into him like a battering ram as soon as he was outside, making him gasp. That was when he realised he hadn’t been lying when he said he might throw up; he lurched forwards and vomited into the gutter.

Len’s hand was on his back, rubbing comfortingly between his shoulder blades as Barry brought up dozens of useless drinks, all of which burned more on the way out than they had on the way in. By the time he was done, Barry felt hollow and dizzy with the force of his puking, his mouth tasted disgusting, and he had a headache brewing. Straightening up, he went to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, but Len tapped him on the shoulder and presented him with a handkerchief.

“I’m not even going to ask why you carry a handkerchief around with you,” Barry said thickly as he accepted it and wiped his mouth.

“Good for wiping off fingerprints,” Len said nonsensically. “Are you okay?”

Barry nodded. Then, he changed his mind. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

“I knew you’d take it badly. I kept telling Joe this wasn’t the right time, but he was insistent that Wally was coming to the party.”

Barry’s head jerked like Len had slapped him. “You knew about this?”

“Hard not to. I spent a lot of time by your bedside; I met him god knows how many times. Joe and Iris brought him to visit while you were out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“They asked me not to. And I figured you were better off not knowing for as long as possible.” Len looked him directly in the eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. Wally is  _ not  _ your replacement, okay?”

“I go into a coma for nine months and when I wake up, Joe has a new son? Feels a lot like a replacement to me,” Barry said bitterly.

“And I can assure you that Wally feels exactly the same way,” Len said. “Like a very inferior replacement. I was there when Joe and Iris brought him to visit you, and judging by the look on the kid’s face he hated every second of it. If there’s one thing I learned while you were in a coma, it’s that people will always romanticise something if they think they’ve lost it. Wally had to sit there and listen to Joe and Iris talk about how wonderful you are, and feel like he was the second choice. If you ask me, the kid got a pretty bad end of the deal.”

Barry opened his mouth to reply, but then a voice said, “Barry?”

A concerned Felicity stood with her coat over her arm, watching them. Barry restrained a groan; as much as he loved Felicity, he wasn’t sure he could handle her propensity for word-vomit right now. She looked strange without her glasses - good, but strange. It felt kind of like he was looking at her naked, which was such a weird thought that his head started spinning again.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Felicity asked. She folded her arms as if she was going to intervene, which was cute, but hilarious, because Len could probably snap her like a twig. The insolent look he gave her suggested that the exact same thing was going through Len’s mind.

“Oh, no, Felicity - this is actually my boyfriend, Leonard.”

“Oh!” Felicity had the good grace to look embarrassed. She looked curiously at Len. “I thought you’d be…”

“Younger?” Len asked sardonically.

Clearly sensing that she was on dodgy ground, Felicity attempted to salvage things by offering him her hand. Len took it and proceeded to practically crush her fingers in the brutal vice that he called a handshake. To her credit, Felicity didn’t flinch, although she did flex her fingers several times when he let go. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Leonard. Uh… are you okay, Barry? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine.” Barry forced himself to straighten up. “Len, this is Felicity Smoak. She’s...um. She works with Oliver Queen.”

“I’m his PA,” Felicity said. “It’s exactly as thankless and demeaning as it sounds. On the plus side, I’ve almost succeeded in reconfiguring the coffee machine to spray boiling water at him every time he’s an asshole, so my skills aren’t being entirely wasted.”

When Len failed to dignify this with a response, Barry sagged weakly against him. He really wasn’t up for carrying a conversation. Usually he could blather enough for the both of them, but right then he really needed Len to start pulling his weight.

“Uh,” Felicity said. “Are you okay, Barry? You look a little…”

_ Like microwaved shit? _ Barry thought. “I’m fine. I just feel kinda… you know.”

“I think he had a few too many martinis,” Len said smoothly. He rubbed Barry’s back. “Are you done vomiting, or do you need to go again?”

“I’ll let you know,” muttered Barry.

“Oh hey, so, I met your family. They seem nice. I love Iris. Joe introduced me to Wally - he’s so sweet, even Oliver likes him, which is weird because Oliver doesn’t like anybody - do you remember how much he hated you when we first met? But him and Wally really seem to have hit it off - ”

Hearing Felicity wax poetic about the many merits of Wally West was not doing Barry’s stomach any favours. He tried grimly to look attentive and not like he was contemplating throwing up on her to get her to go away.

Luckily, Len came to his rescue yet again. “Oh look, I think he’s gonna start puking again,” he said, and he grabbed the back of Barry’s head and forced him downwards.

Barry made some grateful retching noises, and prayed that Felicity was too squeamish to notice that he wasn’t actually puking. Apparently, she was.

“Oh, God. That’s - uh. You know what, I’m going to just… leave you guys to it. Feel better soon, Barry.” Felicity hurried back inside, tottering a little in her fancy shoes.

“Thanks,” Barry said, straightening up.

“Any time,” Len said. “Do you want to leave? I can go in there and tell everyone you’ve drunk too much and I’m taking you home.”

Leave his own party halfway through, without saying goodbye? It was rude. It was ungrateful. 

It was what Barry wanted more than anything.

For once he was glad that Len couldn't give a rat's ass about social niceties. "Please," he said.   


Taking Barry's hand, Len led him back towards the entrance to the bar. Just as Barry was cringing, expecting to be pulled back inside, Len paused by the front door. He started to shrug out of his jacket.   


"Len, you don't have to -"   


Len spread his jacket on the ground, ignoring Barry's protests. Then, he gently guided Barry down onto it, pressing on him until he sat down. He pushed Barry's head between his legs.    


"I'm going to go call us a taxi," he said. "Will you be okay here for a few minutes?"   
"Yeah, okay."   


Len disappeared into the bar. Despite not actually being drunk, Barry found that having his head between his legs was actually helping a lot. Tiredly, he closed his eyes. The sounds of the city washed over him; the steady throb of music from the bar, sirens drifting on the breeze, the distant sound of laughter from other partiers. It was a comfort to him to feel so small. The breeze played with his hair, cooling the overheated skin at the nape of his neck, and Barry gave a sigh of relief.   


"Barry?"   


Unwillingly, he lifted his head. Wally was standing over him, looking uncomfortable. Barry had to force himself not to pull a face.   


"You okay?" Wally asked.   
  
"Had a bit too much to drink," Barry mumbled. "M'okay."    
  
He must have sounded convincingly awful, because Wally took a step closer. "Should you really be out here by yourself?"    
  
"Len's gone to call a taxi. He'll be back in a minute."    
  
"I'll wait with you til he gets back."  
  
"You don't have to -"  
  
"I can't leave you sat out here by yourself," Wally said stubbornly, and he sat down, grimacing as the wet sidewalk soaked through his jeans.   


Sorely tempted to make a miraculous recovery and go back inside, Barry took a deep breath and put his head between his legs. Internally, he begged Len to hurry up.   


"Look, Barry," said Wally, "I'm sorry if I ruined your party."  
  
Barry was way too tired for this conversation. "You didn't. It's fine."  
  
"This is so weird for me," Wally continued. "I never really expected you to wake up. We all thought... you know."   
  
"I'm full of surprises," Barry muttered. He wondered if he could do some more strategic vomiting to escape from this conversation.  
  
"I know this is crazy. It must be super weird for you, not even knowing I exist. But I know it's important to my dad and Iris that we get on, so. Truce?"   


Barry was about to reply - even though a huge part of him wanted to punch Wally in his stupid reasonable face - when a shadow fell over them. Leonard. Barry went weak with relief.   


"Taxi's waiting," said Len. "You ready to go?"  
  
"Yeah," Barry said gratefully, and took the hand Len offered him. He allowed Len to pull him to his feet.    


Wally rose reluctantly and picked up the jacket, which was now rather grimy. Len took it and draped it around Barry's shoulders like a mantle.   


"Take care," Wally said.  
  
"Thanks," said Barry, and let Len steer him away.

 

~*~

  
  
They were quiet in the taxi home, Barry curled up sleepily against Len, who kept a protective hand on him at all times. When they finally got into the apartment, Len led Barry into the centre of the living room and started unfastening Barry's overshirt, which he'd buttoned up outside to protect him from the wind. It made Barry feel warm all over to be treated so gently, with such care, but his conscience wouldn't let him just stand there knowing he was perfectly capable of undressing himself.  
  
"You know I'm not actually drunk, right?" Barry said softly.   
  
"I know. You look like hell, though. Let me take care of you."  
  
After that, Barry didn't argue. He stood obediently and let Len strip him. When the shirt was unbuttoned and carefully laid out on the sofa, Barry lifted his arms like a child so that Len could pull off his t-shirt. He dealt with his own pants, underwear and socks while Len stripped down, and then Len took his hand again and guided him into the bathroom.  
  
Barry sat exhaustedly on the toilet seat while Len started the shower, taking an unusual amount of care to get the temperature just right before he finally pulled Barry in alongside him and pulled the shower curtain closed. Then it was just the two of them, hidden in mist from the rest of the world, warm water from the shoulder pouring steadily down on them and working all of the stress out of Barry's body.  
  
He was too bone tired to react when Len popped open the shower gel and started to wash him. For once there was nothing sexual about the way Len lathered him up, washing every inch of him with careful precision. He soaped up Barry's back, sponged the sweaty nape of his neck, washed under his arms and between his legs, and all of it with the utmost care but no indication of leading to anything else. Barry was unspeakably glad of that, and even more so when his body for once failed to rise to the bait. Tonight, he was too drained, too shell-shocked for sex. So stupid that something so small could rock his entire world on its axis. 

Joe had a son. Not Barry. Someone who hadn't spent nine months in a coma, hadn't been in and out of psychiatrists' offices for half his childhood, someone who belonged in Joe's little family. Not just a lodger like Barry had been, taken in out of pity and a weird sense of obligation.   


Len was halfway through rinsing the soap off him when Barry started crying, silently at first, but then it grabbed him by the throat without warning and suddenly he was bawling in earnest, sobs so violent that his whole body shook with them.   


Len didn't try to reassure him. He didn't ask him what was the matter, or try and get him to stop. He just encircled Barry in his arms and let all the tears run down the drain with the hot water, until there were no tears left to fall.   


  
~*~

  
  
They lay in bed, Barry comforted by the silkiness of clean sheets against his skin. His hair was still a little damp, leaving marks on the pillow. Beside him, Len lay watching him with bright eyes while one hand stroked comfortingly up and down Barry's bare thigh.    
  
"I know it's stupid," Barry said, his voice a little rough from crying. "To be so upset. Joe isn't even my dad, really. But I feel like he's been taken from me."   
"It's perfectly normal," Len said. "Sibling jealousy. I still remember it happening to me when my dad brought Lisa home for the first time.”

Propping himself up with his elbow on the pillow, Barry rested his chin on his hand. “Really?” He smiled a little. It was hard to imagine a cute little angry Leonard being jealous of his baby sister, especially considering how close he was to Lisa. He couldn’t quite picture it.

“I couldn’t stand her. Thought she was a squalling little brat ruining the peace and quiet.”

“Did you ask them to put her back?” 

Len smirked. “I was a little old for that. I just spent a lot of time scheming about the best ways to be rid of her. They were all suitably violent.”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know,” Len said, rolling onto his back. “Nothing I can really put my finger on. There was no light-bulb moment, no ‘this is my sister and I love her’. I guess she just...became a part of me, in the end. The best part of me.” He snorted. “Look at me, getting all sentimental.”

“I have that effect.” Barry hesitated. “...Do you think it’ll be like that with me and Wally?”

“Hard to say. Lisa was a little kid. It’s a lot easier to love a baby unconditionally than a fully grown brother who’s just wandered into your life...but don’t dismiss Wally out of hand. He’s not a bad kid. The two of you are actually pretty alike.”

“What? How?”

Len raised an eyebrow at him. “Dead mom, absent dad… not so absent any more, maybe. But for most of his life. Sharp as a nail, smarter than he lets on. Stubborn.”

“Sounds like you know him well.”

“I’m observant.”

“You like him,” Barry accused.

“I think he’s smart. I think he’s got guts. He doesn’t let anybody else make up his mind for him. And he sat with you in the freezing cold while I was calling a taxi, and I didn’t even have to ask. What’s not to like?”

Barry rolled onto his back so he wouldn’t have to look at him any more. Something churned unpleasantly in his stomach. Usually, he would be ecstatic at the news that Len actually liked one of his relatives - but he didn’t  _ want  _ Len to like Wally. Typical - just when he wanted a stoic ally to join him in his crusade of dislike, Len decided to actually  _ like  _ the guy. 

Tapping the back of Barry’s hand where it rested on the pillow above his head, Len said, “Don’t think so hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Do you like Wally better than me?” It sounded pathetic, and he immediately regretted it. Heat flooded to his cheeks.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Len said. “I barely know him.”

Just because Barry knew he was being ridiculous didn’t mean he wanted to be told so. “Well it sure sounds like you do, from the way you keep talking about him. Maybe you should start a fan club.”

“And I thought I was the jealous one. Trying to upstage me, Barry?”

“I’m not jealous!”

“Yes, very convincing. Just a tip: if you expect me to believe that, maybe quit grilling me so hard about the kid. Trust me - if I was interested in Wally in any way, you’d know about it.”

Flushing, Barry stared up at the ceiling. He knew Len was right. Not once had he given any impression that he was interested in Wally at all - just because he didn’t actively dislike him didn’t mean he was attracted to the guy. Even so, he couldn’t shake the horrible creeping feeling that Wally West had snuck up on him in order to quietly steal everything out from underneath his nose.

“Hey,” said Len. “Look at me.”

Barry pulled the duvet up around his chest and stared at the ceiling until it blurred into an expanse of white before his eyes.

Len tapped the back of his hand. “Barry.”

Sighing, Barry turned his head. He was surprised to find Len’s face far closer than he’d expected it; before Barry could react, Len was kissing him. For a moment, Barry’s stomach churned and his head ached, and he could still taste all those drinks he’d forced down - but then Len’s thumb brushed against his cheek and he relaxed into it. Len’s lips were gentle against his own. 

When they parted, the lump in Barry’s throat had all but dissolved. “Look,” said Len, “I can hardly fault anybody for having a few jealousy issues. But I can promise you that I have no interest whatsoever in Wally, or anybody else but you.”

“Nine months is a long time. I couldn’t blame you if you’d got sick of waiting.”

“I keep telling you, you were worth the wait.”

Hastily, Barry turned over and tucked himself up against Len’s body, turning himself into the little spoon. As soon as his face was safely out of view, he felt safe to let the tears in his eyes brim over a little. At the same time, he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You probably don’t. Unless you did something terrible in a past life that I don’t know about, in which case, this is probably payback.”

“I mean it,” Barry said. “I don’t deserve you, Len. I don’t deserve to be as lucky as I have been. I’m never gonna let you go.”

“Go to sleep,” Len said gently, but he kissed Barry on the cheek, and Barry knew that although Len wasn’t great at expressing himself sometimes, he felt exactly the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh, drama!!! *rubs evil hands with glee* i had to get wally in here somehow. why? because of reasons. anyway there's gonna be some fun tension revolving around this and also it gave me a chance to write angst and lowkey hurt/comfort so?? who's the real winner here?


	6. Chapter 6

Considering that Barry was now the fastest man on the planet, it was remarkable how often he seemed to find himself running out of time.   
  
He was fast now, sure. Unfortunately, the rest of his life seemed to have sped up to compensate. Today, for example, it was just past lunchtime, and he'd already saved four people from a burning building, been yelled at by Caitlin, completely humiliated himself in front of Joe and Singh, and only barely been in time to meet Iris at the presentation they were attending for Simon Stagg, the scientist she was writing an article about for her journalism module. She'd asked Barry to tag along and explain the science afterwards - which he was all too happy to do; Stagg was a pioneer in his field. Unfortunately, he'd hardly even started his explanation and Iris was already bored. Before he'd even finished his first sentence, she was already snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Sighing, Barry confiscated the drinks and deposited them on a nearby table. He was more than happy to help Iris, but she could have at least  _ pretended  _ to be interested. 

The trouble was that Barry wasn't too good at simplifying the science - he was too busy marvelling at it.   
  
Iris stifled a yawn as Barry made another attempt to talk her through the science of Stagg's research. He was having limited success when Iris suddenly spotted Stagg heading their way and made a beeline for him. Clearly her journalistic instincts didn't need a lot of honing, Barry thought as he followed her.  
  
"Professor! Professor Stagg! My name is Iris West, I'm writing an article about your research - I was wondering if I could have a quote for my - "   
  
"I'm sorry, my dear, I'm rather busy right now," Stagg said with a condescending smile. Then he disappeared, flanked by bodyguards like some kind of mob boss.    
  
For a moment, Iris stared after him, crestfallen. She chewed momentarily on her lower lip, then shrugged and said brightly, "I'll just make something up."    
  
"For a guy who can grow his own organs, you'd have thought he'd have a heart," Barry commented.    
  
"Hm," Iris said. "That's good. I might use that. It could do with some tweaking." Taking his arm, she said, "Hey, are those hors d'oeuvres?"    
  
Barry was about to go and investigate - his stomach had been complaining at him all morning - when a colossal bang echoed through the room, making them all flinch. Wildly, he and Iris spun around, looking for the source of the commotion.   
  
At the very front of the room, on the very stage Stagg had just vacated, stood six armed men dressed in black. They all wore balaclavas that covered most of their faces, but there was something eerily similar about them. They were all dressed identically, and the way they moved with such synchronicity suggested that they were well used to working as a unit. A little ahead of all the rest stood the man who had fired, coldly surveying the room. A chill went down Barry's spine.  
  
"I see you're all wearing your finest jewellery," the first man said, his voice echoing through the silence. "How considerate. If you'd all be so kind as to hand it all over to my associates, nobody has to get hurt."   
  
The remaining five men fanned out, producing burlap sacks that they opened and spread wide. At the front of the room, their ringleader stood with his gun moving slowly around the room, ready to punish any dissent.

Barry took a step forwards, anger surging, but Iris grabbed his arm.   
  


"Don't!"   


Inwardly, Barry cursed. If he'd been alone, he'd already have acted, but he couldn't risk tearing away from Iris now in case the commotion drew the attention of the gunman. Seething, he subsided, but his whole body was tense, ready to intervene at the first opportunity.   


Lines of terrified people hurried over to the masked men, divesting themselves of their valuables. The man at the front had cold eyes, like a snake's, and they continually swept the room watching for any sign of resistance. Slowly, Barry sidled a little further away from Iris. He needed some kind of distraction, something to draw the men's attention away from the rest of the room...  
  
"CCPD! Put your hands in the air!"   
  
Every head in the room jerked towards the cop who had just burst into the room, gun at the ready. All six gunmen swivelled and, in unison, fired.   
  
Barry didn't think. He just  _ moved _ .    
  
He flew past the bullets, slammed into the cop - and then they were outside and he was shoving the cop off balance so that he wouldn't try and leap straight back into the fray. Then he  tore back through the building. The men in black had already made their escape; he didn't dare pause in case Iris saw him, but instead did a quick lap to make sure no one had been shot in his absence before he shot out through the back entrance.   
  
He was just in time to see the last of the men clambering into a van, yanking the door closed with a slam. The vehicle roared and the thick smell of singed rubber filled the air as the van went careening down the road, picking up speed. Hot with anger, Barry gave chase.   
  
But his acceleration was off, he staggered as a surge of dizziness crashed over him. Lurching forwards, Barry gasped and tried to blink away the blackness lapping at the edge of his vision, but it persisted. His heart convulsed in his chest; his legs were shaking.    
  
The van was getting away. Barry made one final desperate bid to go after it, one last spurt of speed - and then his whole body started tingling. There was a ringing in his ears, and the squeal of the tires suddenly seemed very far away. His own breathing echoed in his ears… and then everything went dark.   
  


~*~

  
"Barry! Barry, wake up! Barry!"   
  
Someone was shaking him. Barry put up a hand to try and push away his assailant, his attempt so weak that it frightened him. He managed to force his eyes open.   
  
Iris was kneeling over him, eyes wide. As he blinked at her, she breathed out a sigh of relief.   


"Oh my God, Barry! You scared the crap out of me, I thought you might have gone into another coma!" She hugged him fiercely. "Are you okay?"   


Barry had another attempt at blinking away the distortion at the edges of his vision, this time with slightly more success. "Yeah, I'm fine..." He tried to sit up.   
  
"Then what were you thinking?" Iris dealt him a sharp thwack to his arm.    
  
"Ow!"    
  
"What were you doing out here on the ground?"    
  
"I was...I was..."    
  
His head was still spinning too badly for him to come up with a suitable lie. He settled for trying to drag himself into a sitting position.

"Did you pass out?" demanded Iris.  
  
"No!" said Barry, although he had a nasty suspicion that that was exactly what had happened. Unsteadily, he attempted to get up. Iris pulled him to his feet, and to his horror, Barry found himself leaning on her for support.  
  
"Come on, let's get you inside," said Iris. "The cops are here; they're gonna wanna take a statement."  
  
And that was how Barry ended up back inside the building with a quite frankly humiliating red blanket wrapped around him. The blanket was a compromise with Iris, who had wanted him to see a paramedic; Barry balked at the thought of some innocent paramedic getting a glimpse of his freaky medical readings, and refused. Luckily, Joe had his back and had convinced Iris to back off, but he hadn't been able to do anything about the blanket. Admittedly, it was kind of helping. He was freezing.  
  
Iris had vanished shortly after that to make a phone call, leaving Barry with Eddie, who was attempting to take a statement. Unfortunately he seemed to be too busy watching Iris from across the room to pay much attention to Barry's attempts to describe the assailants. Barry debated giving him a warning - he doubted that Iris would be particularly tolerant of Detective Pretty-Boy's evident crush - but he could probably have stabbed Eddie in the leg with a fork and the guy still wouldn't have quit staring.  
  
"Can we wrap this up?" Barry asked, struggling to hold back a yawn. "I'm really wiped out, I kind of wanna get out of here."  
  
"Huh? Oh, sure, Barr. Listen, uh, I'm gonna go check on Iris, make sure she's okay." Closing his notebook, Eddie hurried off.  
  
Barry had a momentary rush of pity for the guy, who was undoubtedly about to be speared on the end of Iris' very sharp tongue - but then the front doors burst open and all of a sudden Barry had his own problems to deal with.

Len had a murderous look on his face as he stormed in, looking all around the room. Barry shrunk down into his blanket and pretended to be invisible, but in spite of his best efforts it took Len all of two seconds to lock onto Barry and make a beeline for him. Barry nervously fought the urge to back away, and then Len was on him, hands grabbing Barry’s face.

“What happened? What the hell did you do? Are you hurt? Damnit, Barry, I take my eyes off you for five seconds - ”

“Len, I’m fine, really.” God, he could kill Iris, who was hurrying over to join them with her phone still in her hand, leaving no doubt whatsoever as to who had called Len down here. If it had been up to Barry, Len would never have found out about this. ...Until he switched on the news later that evening, found out about it anyway, and the whole thing turned into a blazing row. Maybe Iris had been right to call him. Even so, Barry wasn’t pleased. It was humiliating, and he got the sense that Len had been having a meltdown the entire time it took him to get here.

“Not buying it. Iris? How is he?”

“He’s fine, Leonard,” Iris said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

Len was still busily examining him, tilting his head from side to side, peering into his eyes, probing him to feel for bumps or bruises. Making a face, Barry tried to shove him away, but Len didn’t even seem to notice. 

“What happened?”

“Robbery,” Iris said. “A bunch of guys came in. All armed. Barry freaked out and tried to make a run for it.”

Barry closed his eyes, his cheeks burning. How cowardly he must have seemed, haring out of there with no regard for anyone else. If he’d at least managed to grab his suit and catch the guys, he could have reassured himself with the knowledge that he wasn’t as gutless and pathetic as he surely appeared... but instead he could only think of how he had run out on his best friend in the middle of a robbery and then collapsed in the street.

Len scowled and gave Barry a little shove. “For the record, Scarlet, high-tailing it out of there is exactly what you  _ don’t  _ do in the middle of a robbery. You keep your head down, do as you’re told, and hold out till it’s over. You’re lucky you didn’t end up with a bullet in your ass.”

Barry couldn’t meet Len’s gaze. He could have told them he’d been going for help, that he’d been trying to call the cops, but then he would seem like a liar as well as a coward, and that would be ten times worse. He swallowed.

“I went out to look for him when it was all over and I found him passed out in the street,” Iris said, rubbing Barry’s back comfortingly. “I guess the shock was too much; he must have fainted.”

“I didn’t  _ faint, _ ” protested Barry, who was certain he would be mocked for months for fainting in any circumstance, let alone in the middle of a robbery. “I was having like, this crazy adrenaline rush, I just had to lie down for a second - ”

“You passed out?” Len said sharply. “For how long?”

“Well I didn’t happen to have a stopwatch on me at the time,” Barry said sarcastically. “Would you like a vague estimate?”

“Iris,” Len said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “how long?”

She shrugged. “No more than a couple of minutes. He came round almost as soon as I got there. But he definitely lost consciousness.”

Barry glared at her. Traitor. 

“That’s it,” said Len, taking his arm. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“What? No!” Barry snatched his arm away. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was just a little dizzy spell, I’m fine.”

“You passed out in the  _ street _ , Barry. Maybe that’s not a big deal to you, but in spite of what you seem to believe, the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, and if you happen to pass out in the middle of the city when none of your friends are there, the charming citizens of Central City are far more likely to start rifling through your pockets rather than trying to help you.”

“You’re overreacting. This was a crazy situation; there were armed robbers, that’s bound to make anyone a little light-headed - ”

“Hospital,” Len snapped.

“No, Leonard.” Barry grabbed his hands. A little more gently, he said, “We can’t afford to keep rushing to the hospital every time I have an off day.”

“Money's no object, Barry, trust me.”

“We need food and a roof over our heads more than we need a whole heap of medical bills for treatment I don’t need. Are you telling me you’d be taking yourself to the hospital if you’d been the one to pass out for a minute? Or would you be standing here telling me to quit fussing?”

Len pulled his hands from Barry’s grip and folded his arms. “You just spent nine months in a coma. Forgive me for being a little uneasy about hearing you and the word ‘unconscious’ strung together in the same sentence.”

“I know,” Barry said gently. “I know that. But you can’t keep fussing around me like this, Len. I can’t spend the rest of my life wrapped in cotton wool.” He touched Len’s arm. “Listen, I’ll call in at S.T.A.R Labs later and get Caitlin to run a few tests, okay?”

“Fine,” said Len. “But you tell Doctor Snow that those tests had better be at the top of her to-do list, or she and I are going to have words.”

“Relax. Caitlin will make those tests her priority. It’s not like S.T.A.R Labs has anything better to do right now.” 

This was embarrassingly true. Without funding, respect from the scientific community, or anything resembling a promising future in the industry, Cisco, Caitlin and Wells had very little to do other than twiddle their thumbs and focus all of their dwindling resources on Barry. So far they were running test after test and had just splashed out on a very souped up treadmill - one which Cisco was cheerfully souping up even further. Barry wasn’t too keen on the treadmill; it made him feel like a hamster frantically running in a wheel, never really getting anywhere, but it made Cisco happy and gave Caitlin plenty of readings to examine, so who was he to complain?

“I’ll get her to do a full medical examination,” Barry promised. After all, Len wasn’t the only one who was a little shaken by what had just happened. One minute Barry had been running, the next he was reeling on the ground struggling to hang onto consciousness. Was he losing his speed? Was it wearing off somehow? Or was it damaging his body in some way? All questions he wanted answered. “Caitlin will be glad of the work.” He frowned. “Wait. Work.” His head jerked. “Leonard! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be working today!”

Len waved him away impatiently. “Forget it. Not important."

“Very important! Len, if you get fired - you can’t just - the most important part of having a job is that you actually have to show up!” Barry grabbed a handful of his hair. “Jesus. You can’t lose this job because of me, not when it took so long for you to find one - ”

“Cool it,” Len said. “My bosses are easy. Told them I had a family crisis.”

“There’s only so many times you can pull a stunt like that. What happens if you get fired? What if I get sick again? How are you going to stand there and say money’s no object when they toss you out on your ass?”

“Okay, I get your point,” Len said irritably. “I’m going. Make sure Snow does those tests.”

He turned and stormed out, making an exit even more dramatic than his entrance. For a moment Barry stood biting his lip, staring after him. Several people were staring at him accusingly, and he couldn’t meet their gaze. 

A sharp jab to his right shoulder made him jump. He spun around, bewildered. Iris was giving him an incredulous look.

“Barry! Go after him!”

“I - ”

She gave him another vicious whack on the arm.

“Okay, okay, I’m going!”

Len sure could move; he was already vanishing around the corner by the time Barry left the building. Not daring to use his speed, Barry ended up jogging after him with little hope of catching him up. Still, he didn’t like to imagine the sheer volume of bodily harm Iris would do to him if he didn’t at least  _ try _ . 

He sped up.

“Len, wait up!”

Squaring his shoulders, Len kept walking. Actually, Barry was pretty sure he started walking faster. Unsurprising. Barry shook his head, took a deep breath, and ran.

He staggered to a stop a few feet behind Len, almost tripped over his own feet, and found himself battling another wave of dizziness. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head to try and clear it, and then there were steady hands on his waist.

“How’d you catch up to me?” demanded Len. “Did you  _ run _ ?”

“It has been known to happen on occasion.” But in spite of his bravado, he didn’t feel half as smart as he was making out. He was uncomfortably close to being  _ breathless -  _ after a distance of less than a hundred feet!”

“You’re shaking,” Len said sternly.

“I’m kind of cold,” Barry admitted.

Immediately, Len started shrugging out of his jacket.

“Len, no, seriously - ”

“Seriously, shut it,” Len told him, draping the jacket around Barry’s shoulders.

Gratefully, Barry pulled it more tightly around himself. The sooner he got to S.T.A.R Labs and got Caitlin to run those tests, the better. He was feeling decidedly weird. That sudden spurt of speed definitely hadn’t helped. He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself.

“Deep breaths,” Len told him. “Take it easy.”

It took a minute, but when Barry had himself under control, he opened his eyes. Len’s expression had softened slightly, but there was a very clear line of tension between his eyebrows. Lightly, Barry reached up to smooth it out.

“If I have wrinkles, it’s all because of you,” Len told him. “Pretty sure I’ve got you to blame for the grey in my hair, too.”

Barry scoffed. “That’s not grey. It’s gunmetal.”

Len made a small sound of amusement. “Hm. Maybe.” He cocked his head. “Any particular reason why you came haring after me like a bat out of hell?”

“Iris told me to,” Barry admitted. “She hit me. A few times. But she was right; I know you’re only looking out for me. I was embarrassed, that’s all. I don’t want anybody to think any less of me. There were a bunch of guys from the precinct there, and they’re all gonna make fun of me, and... “ He shook his head. “None of that is your fault.”

Len waited expectantly. After a moment, he prompted, “Usually the apology comes next, Scarlet.”

Barry gave a small laugh. “Yeah. Never was good at that part.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“There, now was that so hard?”

“I can easily take it back,” Barry threatened.

“Too late.” Len pulled the jacket more securely around Barry’s shoulders. Standing in the street like that in just a thin sweater, he didn’t appear to be feeling the cold at all. How Barry envied him. “Anyway, as you so astutely pointed out, I’d better get to work. Get your ass to S.T.A.R Labs. Get Snow to run those tests. And for God’s sake try not to pass out on any more sidewalks. I’d hate you to dent one of them with your oversized head. That’s not what my taxes ought to be spent on.”

“So thoughtful,” Barry said. He kissed Len on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I won’t break anything. Not even my big head.”

“Better not,” said Len. “Listen, I might be late tonight. We’ve got a big job sorted, something industrial, it’s gonna take a while. You know how it is. All work and no play -”

“Makes Leonard a very dull boy.”

“But a very rich one. Don’t wait up for me.”

“I won’t,” Barry said. 

They both knew he probably would.

Len vanished around the corner, leaving Barry to gaze dreamily after him for a moment like a lovestruck fool. Then, shaking himself, he headed back to say goodbye to Iris. Much as he hated to admit it, she was way too good at giving advice.

~*~

"Where the hell have you been?" demanded Mick as Len opened the door of the truck. He sat and glared for a moment, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. 

Len waited with raised eyebrows until Mick's brows knitted and he wordlessly moved across into the passenger seat. Taking his rightful place, Len started the engine and set off.    


He would have been quite happy to leave that question rhetorical, but Mick wasn't playing ball. "You're late."   
  
"Ten out of ten for observation. Did you get what I asked for?"    
  
"Depends."    
  
Len turned a cool gaze on his partner. "On what, exactly?"    


"On whether you tell me why I've been waiting so long."   
  
"Personal circumstances."    
  
"Bullshit."    


"Ooh, language," Len sneered. "Put a sock in it, Mick. It's not like we're operating on a time limit."   
  
"You trust me or not?"    
  
"Obviously."    
  


This was somewhat of an understatement: aside from his sister, and maybe Barry, Len could think of no one else who had ever been given so much access to what lay behind his barriers other than Mick Rory. Ever since he had peeled Len's battered body off the floor in juvie and left a circle of feebly stirring attackers in his wake, Mick Rory had stayed solidly in Len's corner. He'd never asked Mick why he did it - why step in to save some punk kid you didn't know from Adam? Some puny pest who was smart as a whip but had no strength to back it up? For a while Len had been suspicious of Mick's motives, certain he was about to become someone's prison bitch. Instead, Mick had become his - in a manner of speaking. Standing silently at his side, always ready to throw a punch or strike a match. All Len had ever needed to do was point him in the right direction.  
  
It was a partnership that had flourished over the years, their understanding of one another deepening. They were both in and out of juvie like it had a revolving door, spending most of their teens behind bars or waiting to be thrown back in. Like fish, reeled in by the lure of money and power and adrenaline and hurled back into the ocean the minute they gave in to the urge. 

They didn't always intersect. Sometimes they would miss each other by a matter of weeks. Other times they spent stretches together, whiling away the long hours until they were allowed to leave. Len taught Mick to play cards. Mick taught Len to play pool. He also taught Len how to light fires with minimal material and make them grow, nurturing the flames until they crackled and sang. Len watched the reflection flicker and dance in Mick's eyes and stayed silent.  
  
In return, Len taught Mick a few tricks of his own. How to watch the subtleties of someone's body language and anticipate their next move. How to stay silent and stand tall, to play dumb and follow Len's lead. Before long they had fallen into their respective roles; Len as the brains of the operation, Mick as the muscle and not much else. While everyone was watching Len and waiting for the double cross, Mick was pulling a fast one behind their back.   
  
Unfortunately they played their roles a little too well. Even Len sometimes forgot himself, didn’t credit his partner for the intelligence he was so good at keeping hidden under the surface.   
  
"Alright," he said irritably. "I was with Barry."   
  
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"    
  
"Well considering that I live with the guy, it's a little inevitable that we'd spend a lot of time together. Dating him kind of exacerbates the problem." Len relented a little. "Kid was involved in a robbery."    


"Aha! So there's hope for him after all."  
  
Len rolled his eyes. "Not like that. He was on the receiving end. Almost ended up with a bullet in the brain, by all accounts. Guess no one told the little bastard that when someone points a gun at you, the smart idea is to stay still."  
  
"Clearly you're the one with the brains _and_ the beauty."  
  
"Barry's brainy enough, he's just not too smart. Kid wouldn't know self-preservation if he fell over it."  
  
"Pity. We could have used him as bait. One look at that pretty mouth and half the city's criminals would have been putty in our hands."  
  
Len tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "No point speculating about it now. He can't keep his head. He'd be a liability."  
  
Mick frowned. “You weren’t seriously considering getting him involved?”

Len didn’t respond. 

_ Time to go _ , he decided. They had a busy day of thievery ahead of them. He put the truck into gear and got moving. Unlike most people, he actually preferred to drive stick. Liked the way he could control the vehicle so much easier, feel the engine roar and ramp itself up under his command. And his father had always driven an automatic. As far as Len was concerned, any opportunity to indirectly give his old man the finger was a good thing.

“Snart,” said Mick. Like a dog with a goddamn bone, as usual.

“Sometimes I just think it might be nice if he knew the real me,” Len snapped. “Except now we know he’d cut and run, so there’s no point discussing it.”

“He works for the CCPD. You should have figured that out long before now. Ain’t a lot of people who’d take what we do sitting down.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Mick,” Len said through gritted teeth, running a red light just because he could. Let the traffic cameras catch him. Let them  _ try  _ to put a fine through his door. The plates would be changed and the vehicle ditched before the speed infraction was even done processing in the CCPD’s computer systems.

It wasn’t as if he’d ever thought he could draft Barry in on this, not really. The kid was all big-eyed innocence and enthusiasm and ridiculous morals, and Len thought  _ he’d  _ probably faint if he ever caught sight of Barry at either end of a gun, regardless of the situation. But it had been a nice daydream to fall back on. That if Barry ever found out who he was, what he did, the habits he’d lapsed back into over the past few months, then he wouldn’t back away. He’d love Len anyway. 

It was all bullshit, of course. He’d known from the beginning that the kind of man he was didn’t get hearts and flowers, didn’t get that happy ending. But the delusion had comforted him, sometimes. He’d lie in bed at night with Barry curled up beside him, listening to the kid breathe, and imagine telling him. For a split second his heart would squeeze painfully, his whole body tense, awaiting the rejection...and then Barry would roll over, bury his face in Len’s neck, and say he loved him anyway.

Sentimental bullshit. He should have pruned it ages ago, stopped letting it grow. Barry Allen was from a safe, warm, cosy world. He passed out on the street and didn’t even consider that someone might try to hurt him while he was out. All the crimes and murders were dealt with from a lab, or whilst surrounded with impersonal yellow tape - and when he took off the gloves and stepped out of the circle, he went back to being Barry Allen. The only real glimpse he’d ever gotten of the kind of world Len lived in was back when his mother had been murdered, and he’d been running from that small glimpse ever since.

“It’s like you always said, Snart,” Mick said. “Business and pleasure don’t mix. You’re better keepin’ him out of it.”

“Yeah,” Len said. “Little asshole gets into enough trouble as it is.”  
  
He put his foot down and tried not to picture the look of horror on Barry’s face if he ever found out what Len was  _ really  _ doing for a living.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of weight, weight loss, etc

Barry walked to S.T.A.R Labs.   
  
He felt kind of silly; he never walked anywhere these days, not unless there was someone with him, and he especially never walked to the lab. But he wasn't taking any chances. Even just walking left him light-headed. Grimly, he carried on, pulling Len's jacket more tightly around him. He couldn't see how his speed could possibly be damaging him - it had accelerated his healing, after all - but he wasn't taking any chances.    
  
It seemed to take an obscene amount of time to get to the lab, but when he was there, Barry wished he'd taken a little longer. Caitlin was seething when he sheepishly admitted he'd been off-colour all day and getting dizzy at unpleasantly frequent intervals.  
  
"You of all people should know how important it is not to lie to your doctors!" she fumed, slamming test tubes down on the desk.    
  
Barry hung his head and muttered apologies. Truth be told, he'd been desperately trying to bury his head in the sand about this. If there was something wrong with him, if his speed was hurting him in some way, he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. He  _ liked  _ being fast. He  _ liked _ being a hero. So yeah, he'd ignored it, pushed past it, tried to act like it wasn't happening. But Len was right. Anyone could have found him passed out on the street like that, and if he'd been in costume and the wrong person had pulled down the cowl, that would have been his secret identity well and truly blown. And he'd be lucky if that was all that happened. The Flash hadn't been in the city very long, but he doubted he would be popular with some of the less savoury members of the population. In such a short time he'd already prevented a handful of petty thefts; soon he'd work his way up to bigger crimes, and then he'd have plenty of enemies who'd love  chance to corner the Flash, unconscious and defenceless and alone.   
  
Caitlin fussed and complained until he got onto the treadmill and started running, hooked up to half a dozen different machines and monitors. They were all watching him like hawks, and Barry felt uncomfortably like the lab rat Len kept claiming him to be - but then he got into a stride, got his rhythm going, and then he was running properly and all of the worry and embarrassment was snatched away on the wind.   
  
It wasn't like running for real, outside with the world rushing past and that feeling like he could do anything. But it was close to it. His chest felt lighter. He felt taller, somehow.    
  
Increasing his speed, Barry pushed himself a little harder. Numbers flashed across the display on the treadmill. 340mph. 350mph. 400mph. Faster and faster, feeling himself start to get a little out of breath. That triumphant glow as he acknowledged that he could go way faster than this. Despite Caitlin's warning not to overexert himself, Barry sped up a little more.   


Faintly, over the rushing in his ears, he could hear his friends conferring, but he couldn't make out the words. Sweat trickled down his back. He gritted his teeth. He could push through this, he'd gone way faster than this when he stopped Clyde Mardon - 

A wave of dizziness made him stagger, losing his footing - and then he shot backwards off the treadmill, landing with a crash in an enormous pile of cardboard boxes.

Passing out was almost a relief.

When he came to, Caitlin was shining a little torch into his eyes and complaining bitterly about his carelessness. Cisco, on the other hand, seemed to be having a hard time not laughing. Groaning, Barry picked himself up off the floor and hobbled into the cortex to let Caitlin do a more thorough examination.   
  
"Your blood glucose levels are through the floor," said Caitlin, fussing around him with a blood pressure cuff. "I can't believe I didn't think of this until now. You're doing a ridiculous amount of exercise, but you haven't increased your calorie intake to compensate."  
  
"I have!" Barry protested. "I've been eating way more than usual. We haven't had leftovers for over a week, I'm having at least two helpings of everything Leonard puts in front of me. It's driving him crazy, actually."  
  
"I'm not talking about a couple of extra servings at dinner," Caitlin said. "You need to  _ triple  _ your daily calorie intake, at least."  
  
"I don't have time to eat that much!" said Barry, aghast.   
  
"You have super speed, Barry."    
  
"I can't eat that fast, I'll throw up! Or at least get terrible indigestion."    
  
"I don't care how you do it, but I'm telling you that's what has to happen," Caitlin said. "You're lucky you haven't become dangerously malnourished. How much do you weigh?"    
  
"Jeez, Caitlin, I don't know. Not a lot?"  
  
He'd always been skinny, and that hadn't changed the way he'd hoped it would during that first big growth spurt in his teens. He'd gone from small and skinny to tall and skinny, and it hadn't helped with the bullying at all. It was kind of hard to hide from the kids who picked on  you when you towered over the lot of them; they'd seen him coming from a mile away. Recently his build had actually started to seem like it might be an asset, since he was built like a sprinter even before he became the Flash, but that didn't make the years of embarrassment about his weight go away. He didn't much care to be quizzed on it.   
  
Caitlin rolled her eyes. "Take off your shirt."   
  
"What?"    
  
"I need to examine you, Barry, and I don't have x-ray vision. Take it off."    
  
Barry clung defensively to the hem of his sweater. "But -"    
  
"Barry," Caitlin said impatiently, "I saw you with your shirt off plenty of times while you were in that coma. You're very cute, but I assure you, I have no interest in your body. Except from a medical perspective. Take it off."    
  
Barry pulled the sweater over his head, leaving him exposed to the empty air. Immediately, he folded his arms across his chest.   
  
Caitlin gave him a very stern look. "I can see your ribs."  
  
Barry looked down. She had a point. His ribs were showing through his skin like the keys of a piano.  
  
"Okay, so maybe I'm a little underweight, but -"   
  
"Just get on the scales."    


He reluctantly obeyed. Caitlin paused, checked the readings. Checked them again. Gaped at the numbers on the little screen. Barry craned his neck. He hadn't weighed himself since tenth grade; it had only ever upset him.   


"Barry!" Her eyes blazed. "You've lost  _ thirteen pounds _ since we last weighed you. That was when you were still in a coma. You were living off a liquid diet from a  _ tube _ and you were still in better shape than you are now."   
  
"Jeez, Caitlin, I didn't know!"    
  
"I can't believe Leonard's been letting you get away with this," muttered Caitlin, scribbling feverishly on her clipboard.    
  
In truth, Barry had been trying to avoid taking his shirt off in front of Len lately. Comments about how scrawny he was didn't hurt any less when Len made them.   
  
"Cisco and I are going to work on a high-calorie diet plan for you to follow," said Caitlin, frowning at her clipboard. "In the meantime, I want you to eat often and excessively. It's going to feel foreign at first, but you should experience an immediate lift in your energy and all the symptoms you've been experiencing - lethargy, dizziness, any stomach bloating or headaches - should lessen considerably. You're also ridiculously dehydrated, so you need to work on drinking a lot more water. I need you to keep an eye out when you pee - at the moment, your urine is probably really dark, but ideally it should be clear."   
  
"Ew, Caitlin. I thought you were trying to persuade me to eat, not putting me off my food."   


"I'm just being thorough."   
  
"I could do with you being a little _ less _ thorough," muttered Barry. He sighed. "Okay, so a couple of IV bags and I'm ready to go, right?"   
  
"Not quite," said Doctor Wells, making Barry jump. He hadn't even realised Wells was there.    


Smiling slightly, Wells inclined his head at a nearby IV stand, which was so laden with IV bags that it appeared to be bending slightly under the weight. Barry sagged.   


"I'll be monitoring you closely over the next few weeks," said Caitlin. "I want to see a marked improvement in your blood glucose and hydration levels within the next two weeks. I'd also like to see you put on at least two pounds between now and then. If I don't see a serious improvement, I'm going to take drastic action."   
  
"Meaning?" Barry said warily.    
  
"Meaning if you don't buck yourself up and start eating more, I'm going to call Leonard."    
  
Barry gaped at her. "Jesus, Caitlin, that's not fair!"    
  
"I may be your doctor," Caitlin said, "but I'm also your friend. That means that if I have to hit below the belt to keep you healthy, then I will. I don't have to tell him you're the Flash; I'm pretty sure all I have to do is tell him how much weight you've lost and he'd be all too happy to force feed you of his own volition."    
  
Barry knew when he was beaten. If Len heard about this, he'd freak out. Joe and Iris, too. They all thought he was too skinny as it was: any sudden dramatic weight loss, and he'd be screwed.    
  
"We're trying to help you, Barry," Caitlin reminded him. "It would be a great help if you'd quit getting in our way."   
  
Sighing, Barry decided he'd better just suck it up and start on the stupid IV bags. He was about to do just that when he spotted Cisco on the other side of the room, quite clearly on the phone. Barry's stomach lurched.  
  
"W-what's Cisco doing over there?"   
  
"Ordering pizza," said Caitlin. "Until we've got some kind of diet plan figured out, junk food is gonna have to do."    
  
"Oh thank god," said Barry. For a minute there he thought Cisco had been carrying out Caitlin's threat early. He hadn't even realised that his friends _ had _ Len's number, but they all seemed to take great pleasure in calling him every time Barry screwed up. He'd have to try and convince Len to get a new phone. Raising his voice, he said, "Cisco! Can I get some garlic bread on the side?"   


Cisco gave him a thumbs up without pausing in his order.

“In the meantime, looks like we have an ID on our masked gunmen,” said Wells. “Or one of them, at least.” He gestured for Barry to join him over by the computers.

There was an image on the screen of a man with dark, untidy hair and a sour expression. Barry examined him with interest. The armed men had all been masked, so there was no telling if it had been the ringleader or just a lackey, but there was definitely something unsettling in his expression.

“Danton Black,” said Wells. “One of Simon Stagg’s former employees.”

“Former?”

“Black and Stagg parted companies some months back. Stagg fired him. We’ve done some digging, and it would appear that Black was making some pretty astonishing progress in the field of cloning technology. Apparently Stagg thought so too; he stole Black’s research, fired him, and passed all the work off as his own.”

“So we have a motive,” Barry said.

“We certainly do. Our next port of call is going to be figuring out Black’s next move; we’ve discovered - ”

“Well, isn’t this cosy?” said a loud voice, making Barry jump. 

Joe stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed. Barry didn’t think he’d seen Joe this mad since the first time Barry brought Len around for dinner.

“Joe! What are you doing here?”

“I think the  _ real  _ question is what are  _ you  _ doing here, Barry? Except, oh wait - I already know. You’re going behind my back and poking your nose into things that aren’t your business.”

“What - ”

“Don’t you lie to me,” Joe said, pointing at him. “I know damn well what you’re doing, I heard it with my own two ears. You’re sitting here making plans to go after Danton Black and get involved in a case which  _ isn’t your concern _ .” 

He looked around the room. Cisco, who had finished ordering pizza, was trying to make himself as small as possible. Caitlin gripped her clipboard and averted her gaze. Only Doctor Wells seemed to be able to look Joe in the eye.

“And all of you are encouraging this? You’re helping my son to put himself in harm’s way?”

“I can help, Joe! Did you expect me to just stand there and let those guys shoot that cop? I didn’t hear you complaining when I saved the city from Clyde Mardon!”

“That was different. Those were extenuating circumstances, and that was metahuman business. I can’t deny that with Mardon, I was over my head. But it’s not just this case, Barry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t insult me. I’m talking about this.”

Joe tossed a folded up newspaper at him. Barry caught it and unfolded it, only to find a huge photo of Jitters coffee shop with a huge red blur obscuring almost the whole picture. The headline was ‘ **CENTRAL CITY STREAK STRIKES AGAIN?’**

Barry’s heart sank. He’d been spotted.

“Mardon was fair enough. He was a metahuman, I had no idea what to do about it, and you saved the day. I appreciate that. I could even understand you getting involved with the Danton Black case - you and Iris were at the crime scene, you’re bound to feel some kind of personal involvement. But it isn’t just these two incidents. There’s nothing to link you to the fire  yesterday evening, when the streak ran in before the firefighters even arrived and started playing the hero. Or the four muggings where the assailants were found knocked out before the cops even arrived.” Joe shook his head. “You’re getting carried away. You’re playing at being the hero, and that is not your job.”

“It is my job! It’s anybody’s job! Was I supposed to just stand here and let some kid burn to death in an apartment building while her mother screamed outside? Should I just let a bunch of armed gunmen threaten Iris without going after them? I’m a cop, Joe - ”

“You’re not a cop,” Joe interrupted. “You’re a CSI. Your place is in the lab, not out there.”

“My place is wherever I can be to help,” Barry said.

“Like hell it is. This may all be some big game to you, but it isn’t to me. You keep out of this, all of you. You could jeopardise the whole investigation, not even mentioning what could happen if you got hurt. I am not going to see you killed because you’re getting a kick out of running around in a stupid outfit and playing God.

“And as for all of you.” Joe glared around the room at Cisco, Caitlin and Wells. “You all think you’re so smart, helping him with this. But how do you think you’ll feel when he comes back with some injury you can’t fix? How do you feel about burying your best friend? Because that’s what’ll happen if you let him keep risking his life.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying ever since we started all this,” said Caitlin.

Barry gave her an injured look, which she ignored. He decided to have another attempt at reasoning with Joe.

“Joe, I have these amazing powers, it would be selfish of me not to use them!”

“You have these powers because you were in a coma. You nearly died. I’m not gonna see that happen again. I’m putting my foot down, Barr. I’m your father, and I - ”

“You’re not.”

For a moment Barry couldn’t quite believe he’d said it. The words came from a deep, nasty part of him, the part that had whispered to him at night when he was a kid. The same part that reminded him that Joe had been part of his dad going to jail, that Joe had sent him to all those shrinks, Joe hated Barry’s boyfriend, Joe had replaced him with another, better son the moment Barry’s back was turned.

“I might as well be,” said Joe.

“But you’re not, Joe. You aren’t my dad.  You only have to take one look at both of us to see the truth of that.”

“I have fed you, and clothed you, and taken care of you for over ten years,” Joe reminded him. “I think that gives me the right to call you my son.”

“I don’t,” Barry said. “You raised me, and I’m grateful. But I don’t need you any more. You have another son to worry about.”

Whatever Joe had been about to say was lost in the back of his throat. He stared at Barry as though he was a stranger. Coolly, Barry stared back. He wanted to shout, and wave his arms, and dig as many needles into Joe as possible. To tear him apart even more. But if there was one thing he had learned from Leonard Snart, it was the power of freezing someone out.

“I’m going back to work,” Barry said. “I have samples to analyse from the case. I’ll be back later.”

And with that, he walked out, trying to hang onto his anger before it dissipated and he realised what a hurtful thing he’d just said.

 

~*~

It was quiet in his lab. Too quiet by far. There were far too many opportunities for Barry’s brain to start doing a replay of his argument with Joe - which, if he was being honest with himself, he already regretted. What he’d said was both below the belt and blatantly untrue, but it had hit home. Aside from sticking his head around the door to deliver some more evidence for Barry to analyse, Joe hadn’t spoken to him since. Still, that gave Barry plenty of time to analyse Danton Black’s DNA samples in peace - or so he thought.

Putting the test tube down, Barry was just about to start recording the results when Iris walked in.   
  
"Why is my dad mad at you?"   


There were many potential answers to this question, including - but not limited to - "my own stupid inadequacy", "because I'm the world's crappiest superhero", and "sibling rivalry," but Barry settled for, "Uh. Work stuff."   
  
Iris sat on the edge of his desk, folded her arms, and glared.   


It took Barry a minute, but then he looked up. Her eyes were narrowed to tiny slits.    


"Um. Why are  _ you _ mad at me?"   
  
"Now let me think," Iris said sarcastically. "Why _ am _ I mad at you, Barry? Could it possibly have something to do with a certain lunch date at Jitters which you failed to show up for? Again?"   
  
Barry's heart sank like a deflated rubber duck. "The one where I was supposed to explain the science for your article and I...forgot...again..."    
  
"Now he remembers!" said Iris.    
  
"Iris, I'm sorry, I -"    
  
"And now guess who has to find another topic for the article by tomorrow or fail the entire assignment!" Iris said. "Don't apologise again, Barry, I'm tired of that. I just want an explanation."    
  
Oh, how Barry would have loved to give her one. The urge to spill his guts to someone who didn't already know about his speed, and/or judge him intensely for it, was immense. He just wanted to go to Jitters and eat doughnuts and pour his heart out to Iris and tell her everything. That was the natural order of things, it was how they were supposed to be. Iris in his corner, no matter what. Not glaring at him from the other side of the room and leaving him speechless.   
  
But Joe was already angry enough without Barry breaking his promise and telling Iris on top of everything else.  
  
"Things are kind of crazy right now," he said limply. "I don't know where my head's at."   
  
"Well the least you can do is help me come up with some new ideas for my article. If you can peel yourself away from your boyfriend for long enough."    
  
Barry frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"    
  
"You think I haven't noticed that you've been avoiding me? Apparently spending time with Leonard - the man you live with and see every single day - is a more pressing engagement than helping your best friend with her article."    
  
"I haven't been with Leonard," Barry said. "I haven't seen him since that incident at Stagg’s award ceremony, actually."    


"Then where _have_ you been? You haven't been here, that's for sure; I heard Captain Singh complaining on my way in. You've been missing in action all day."  
  
"I was at S.T.A.R Labs with Cisco and Caitlin."  
  
"Oh," Iris said, "your _other_ friends. The ones with no careers or commitments, who didn't need your help."  
  
"I'm allowed to have other friends, Iris. You do!"  
  
"I don't bail out on my friends to go hang out with other people. Oh wait - yes, I do. I seem to recall doing that a lot so I could come and see you when you were in a _coma_."  
  
Barry's anger flared. He'd screwed up with the masked gunmen, disappointed Caitlin, pissed off Joe, and now Iris was yelling at him for something he'd had literally no control over?  
  
"Well if I'm such a bad friend, maybe next time you should ask someone else to help you with your article," he said, turning his back on her to go and update the records for the crime scene.  
  
"Oh yeah, like who?"  
  
"How about Wally?" Barry said snippily, firing up his computer.  
  
A beat of silence.  
  
"So that's what this is about? You're punishing me because you're jealous of Wally?" Iris shook her head in disbelief. That's why you've been avoiding me, isn't it? You're mad about my brother."  
  
"Well it sure seems like he'd be of more use to you than I am right now, seeing as I'm such a terrible friend and he's so perfect -"  
  
"I can't believe you're mad about this. What do you expect me to do, Barry, just make him go away? Act like he doesn't exist? I know this must be hard for you, waking up to find out that I have a new sibling we never knew about, but none of that is my fault! It isn't Wally's fault, either. He wants to get to know you."  
  
"Yeah, well I'll pass, thanks. I have enough on my plate at the moment." Barry stabbed at the keyboard.  
  
"Don't be such an asshole, Barry. I'd expect that kind of comment from Leonard, not from you."  
  
"Yeah? Well at least Len cares about me. At least he didn't let some stranger take my place when I was in a coma!"  
  
"What do you expect me to do, Barry? He's my _brother_ -"  
  
" _I_ was your brother!" shouted Barry. "I was better than a brother. I was your best friend, Iris. And now you've got him to rely on instead of me."  
  
"That is not true. I've been reaching out to you, Barry. You just won't let me in any more. I don't know what happened to you while you were in that coma, but you're not the same as you were before."  Iris slung her bag onto her shoulder. "I'm leaving. If you feel like being reasonable about this any time soon, call me.”

She stormed out, leaving Barry to sit fuming in front of his computer screen and direly wishing he could smash the stupid thing all over the floor. He slammed the keyboard with the flat of his hand. Like it was his fault that some stupid gang of gunmen was rampaging around the city trying to assassinate accomplished scientific researchers. Okay, it was his fault that he hadn’t stopped them, but was he supposed to remember a lunch date with Iris, eat eight thousand calories in one sitting and solve this case for Captain Singh at the same time? He might have been the fastest man alive, but he still couldn’t be in three places at once.

The computer beeped, alerting him that the results were ready to view. He opened them up and quickly scanned the screen.

His brow furrowed.

There was something weird about Danton Black’s cells. They were stem cells, the kind that could replicate and multiply to become anything. The kind of cells that only an infant should possess. There was no way a grown man should have DNA cells like that. Unless...

Black was a metahuman.

Barry lurched up out of his seat and ran for the exit, already yanking his phone out of his pocket. First and foremost, he needed to call S.T.A.R Labs.

And then, he had to act upon the nasty suspicion that he knew exactly where Joe had gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Len sat on his favourite stool at Saints and Sinners - not quite in the corner, but far enough back that he could face the bar and still see the door without visibly turning his head - swirled his drink around in his glass, and listened to the buzz of conversation around him.

He and Mick had pulled off a couple of small jobs while the CCPD were still buzzing like flies around that crime scene Barry had been at earlier. It had hardly escaped Len’s notice that he was going to have to keep things in the down low for a while - most of the CCPD had been at Barry’s soiree the other night, and it was very likely that at least a few of them would have spotted him. The last thing he wanted was for one of Barry’s cop buddies to come bumbling in and telling Barry that his boyfriend had been spotted prising the front off of an ATM in broad daylight on the other side of the city.

Still, he and Mick had stolen a car, taken it to a dealership not far out of the city to have the plates removed and the paint job re-done, and walked out with heavy pockets. Since then, he’d also busted a parking meter and taken all the cash out of that - immensely satisfying, if not especially lucrative - and they had plans to sneak into the museum within the next few months if things went well and none of the cops said anything to Barry. It had been a busy afternoon - well deserving of a drink, he figured.

One thing he’d learnt in his time as a career criminal was that for such a tight-lipped bunch, crooks sure could gossip. Not about their own jobs, maybe, but every snippet of info about everyone else’s heists would be passed around and worried at like a bone for weeks. It was one reason why Len tended to sit down and shut up. Also, it helped Len’s image to remain aloof. Half of his reputation was in his untouchability; he was a cold, frigid bastard, couldn’t be touched with a rusty barge-pole, and if he drafted you in on a job, you’d be in and out and gone as soon as the heist was over. The times when Len had kept a close-knit crew were long since over. He’d learnt that it was safest to trust as few people as possible. Anyone he called in had to be disposable; he couldn’t rely on their loyalty, especially not when he had a cushy suburban lifestyle at stake. These days, Len didn’t have the time to be playing the complicated game of criminal politics.

Even so, he had to be seen in the odd seedy bar every now and then. This wasn’t an official criminal haunt by any means, but it wasn’t exactly squeaky clean either.

Grimacing slightly, Len peeled the soles of his boots away from the sticky vinyl floor beneath his feet. Not squeaky clean in any sense of the word.

“And then he split himself - cloned himself into six,” the man with the grubby bandana said from the other end of the bar. “Saw it with my own two eyes. Some freaky shit is going down in this city.”

Rolling his eyes, Len finished the rest of his drink. Back in his younger days, people actually spread decent gossip, not this supernatural claptrap about self-cloning gunmen. This clown had been regaling the entire bar with a wild story about some crazed scientist who could apparently multiply himself into dozens of doppelgangers, and would apparently pay handsomely for any information or assistance in getting into the home of some guy he had a vendetta against. It sounded like a bad sci-fi movie, the kind that even Barry couldn’t have sat through without pointing out all of the scientific inconsistencies. 

_ Time to go,  _ Len thought. He’d made his appearance; that was enough to keep the rumour mill whirling for now. They’d all be talking about him as soon as he was gone, after watching him flash the cash for a couple of rounds. It was a testament to his formidability, and the dubious moral code of his fellow criminals, that no one had attempted to rob him yet. Len allowed himself a tight smile. He would’ve loved to see one of them to try. Any pick-pocket would soon find himself with broken fingers; anyone bolder would have their brains blown out before they could even finish the threat. 

Flicking his fingers at Mick, he got up, and was about to head out when someone said, “What’s this scientist guy got against Stagg, anyway?”

Len paused. Stagg. That was the guy whose event Barry had attended earlier.

Mick shot him a questioning look. With a minute shake of his head, Len stayed where he was.

“Stagg screwed him over big-time, from what I heard. The point is, this guy Danton Black is desperate for any information on how to get close to Stagg. Crazy bastard wants to try getting inside Stagg’s apartment and taking a hit from there.”

“Someone already took a hit on Stagg today,” Len found himself saying. “Security’s gonna be tripled. Only an idiot would try going after him after that.”

Heads swivelled. Len was not known for speaking up, unless it was to deliver a pithy comment or order another drink.

“Well, Black’s crazy,” the man said uncomfortably. Len’s contribution had clearly made him uneasy. “Besides, if he can multiply like that, what’s he gotta worry about cops for? He can turn himself into an army.”

Rolling his eyes again, Len turned away. Clearly he’d be getting nothing useful out of this imbecile. Pity. He’d have liked to know exactly what was going on with Stagg - anyone who had come that close to endangering Barry Allen was someone Len would have liked to have words with.

As they exited the bar Mick growled, “What the hell was that about?”

Len waved a hand dismissively. “I like to keep an eye out for interesting information. Maybe this Danton Black will be interested in a bit of hired muscle for his little crusade.”

Mick shook his head. “I’m not being some scientist’s bitch. We steal things. We don’t get involved in this kinda crap.”

“Oh, I don’t know. A little breaking and entering sounds right up our street. And some rich scientist is bound to have a couple assets we can lift on our way out…”

“I’m out,” Mick said stubbornly.

Len raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Some crazy shit’s gone down in this city over the past couple weeks. I don’t want nothing to do with it.”

As they crossed the road to collect today’s getaway van - a dirty contraption, but deceptively speedy - Len said, “Never took you for the superstitious type. Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, Mick.”

“Just minding my own business. I’m not going near some crazy scientist. I’m a crook, not a lapdog for some lunatic.”

They got into the van and Len thoughtfully started up the engine. It was unlike Mick to have such strong opinions on a job. Usually he left all of the planning and overthinking to Len; all Mick wanted was to be pointed at something he could set alight, cause some destruction, and come away with an adrenaline rush and considerably heavier pockets. In fact, Len didn’t think Mick had ever refused to join him on a job before - he usually trusted Len to handle the minor details, to pick things that were safe and sensible for them to do. This resistance interested him. Once upon a time, it might have pissed him off, but instead he found himself wanting to poke at it, to understand its source.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on Danton Black, whether you join me or not.”

Mick gave him a suspicious look. “Why? Crackpot doesn’t even have a job; he couldn’t pay us if he wanted to.”

Len shrugged. “I have my reasons.” If Mick was going to keep things to his muscular chest, well. Two could play at that game. He tapped his pinky ring on the steering wheel. 

He’d be doing a little more investigating. And if he found out that Black had anything to do with the incident that had left Barry unconscious on the sidewalk that morning… he and Danton Black would be having words.

He sincerely doubted that Black could clone himself at all - if anything he probably just had a bunch of partners in strikingly similar outfits - but if by some ridiculous turn of events, the man was like Mardon and  _ could  _ multiply at will… well. Len had plenty of bullets.

As the van started moving, he allowed a small smile to creep onto his face.

 

~*~

 

“I quit,” Barry said.

He stood in the centre of the room, his own blood still drying on his face in spite of Caitlin’s best efforts to wipe it away. Whole body still battered and stiff, his pride dented beyond repair, and a whole host of rapidly healing bruises he’d have to hide from Leonard, he was decided. He was done.

Done lying, done playing the hero. Done trying to do other people’s jobs. Barry wasn’t made for this. He was a CSI, for god’s sake. He’d run in, full of bravado and ready to save the day, and all he’d done was make a fool of himself and get the shit beaten out of him by a bunch of sallow-looking clones. He was lucky he hadn’t ended up riddled with bullet-holes like a Swiss cheese; if he’d taken even one second longer to catch his breath then he’d be dead by now.

“I understand,” Doctor Wells said. “This...was a set-back. Your confidence has taken a hit, that’s understandable. But you can do this, Barry. We can find a way to combat this metahuman, and next time, you will be ready for him.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Barry said firmly. “I’m done fighting metahumans. Joe was right; I’m not a hero. The only thing I’m good at is running. The best way for me to help people is to sit back and let the professionals take care of it.”

“Barry - ”

“I’m sorry,” Barry said. “Truly, I am. But I’m done.”

He walked out, leaving them to stare after him. Caitlin in particular seemed troubled, chewing hard on her lower lip. That was ridiculous - only that morning, she’d been yelling at him about taking too many risks, about how he was overstepping his bounds. Barry was done being shouted at today.

As he left the lab, his phone vibrated in his pocket.  _ Iris _ . Barry closed his eyes with a sigh. The universe must have been listening in on his brain. But Iris would only get more upset if he didn’t answer. Sighing, he picked up the call.

“Hey, Iris. What’s up?”

“Okay, so I finally came up with a new idea for my article,” Iris said, her voice buzzing with excitement. “I wanna run it by you. How soon can you get to Jitters?”

“Uh,” Barry said. This was a totally different Iris to the one who had torn his head off earlier. “Give me ten minutes?”

“Great!” Iris said, and hung up on him.

 

~*~

 

He should have cancelled. Faked an illness, claimed to be busy, started another blazing row about Wally. Anything, to avoid this. 

Iris stood proudly before him, showing him her new article. An article about the phenomenon sweeping across the city, known only as ‘The Streak’. 

There were a few photos, the kind Barry used to pore over a few years back, when he was really into this kind of stuff. All of the pictures had been taken in various locations across the city, but each of them had one thing in common - a bright red blur smeared across the lens, sometimes in the very corner, other times dominating the entire picture. It was nothing clear, but still enough to make Barry’s heart pound. He’d been seen. There it was, in black and white… well. In red. 

“What do you think?” Iris asked excitedly.

“I think it’s…” Barry wracked his brains, trying to think of a good way to put her down without being unnecessarily cruel. “Interesting. But are you sure this is the kind of thing your professors are looking for?”

Iris frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a non-fictional article.”

“It is non-fiction. The streak is real; the evidence is right there. Look!” Iris jabbed her finger at the screen.

“Well, yeah, I mean, that’s cool, but those pictures could be of anything - they could be light flares, exposure, some kind of weird camera malfunction - ”

“Barry!” Iris said. She looked hurt. “I thought you of all people would understand! You’ve always believed in the impossible. Can’t you see this is important? Whoever - or whatever - this streak is, it’s saving people! What’s the matter with you? The old you would have been all over this? It was only a week ago that you were furious with my dad for not believing you about Mardon!”

“Yeah, well Joe and I had a long talk...and I think maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to stop hanging on to all this supernatural stuff. It’s not going to help my dad. Me acting crazy could only have damaged his case.” Taking a deep breath, Barry shifted his weight. “I think it’s time for me to let go of this stuff, Iris. Maybe you should, too.”

Iris opened her mouth, but then Barry’s phone went off again. Relieved, he made a grab for it - then he saw S.T.A.R Labs on the caller ID and his mood soured once again.

“Look, I said I was done - ”

“I know,” Caitlin said, “But we need you back here  _ right now _ .”

“What’s going on?”

“Please, Barry, it’s urgent - ”

“Okay, okay fine, I’m coming,” Barry said, and hung up.

Iris had turned away, hunched protectively over her laptop, her eyes flickering across her own article. Her lips were pressed tightly together. For a moment, Barry hovered awkwardly, every part of him screaming that he had to get to S.T.A.R Labs, but he couldn’t just sprint out with Iris just standing there getting steadily more angry with him and - 

“Go,” Iris said, without looking at him. 

“Iris, I - ”

“You’ve made it very clear where your priorities lie, Barry. If you can’t be supportive, then I don’t want your help. Just go.”

Barry closed his eyes, torn in a moment of indecision. But whatever the hell was going on at S.T.A.R Labs could be life-threatening, and this mess with Iris was something he could patch up at a later date.

Hating himself, hating this whole stupid mess of a situation, he turned and jogged out of Jitters, and as soon as he was far enough away, he started running.

 

~*~

 

He burst into S.T.A.R Labs feeling irritable and guilty and more than a little keyed up, ready for a fight if this turned out to be some stupid ploy to try and get him back on their side.

“Seriously guys, this had better be import - ARGH!”

Black was standing in the centre of the room, staring aggressively straight ahead of him. 

Barry lunged at him, no plan, no idea what to do, but he had to get Black away from Caitlin and Cisco before - 

“Barry, wait!”

A hand grabbed him from behind. 

“It’s okay!”

“It is  _ not  _ okay! He’s - ”

Black was staring straight ahead, not reacting in the slightest to having Barry standing directly in front of him with one fist already drawn back to aim a punch.

“He’s...just...standing there.” Slowly, Barry lowered his fist. “ _ Why  _ is he just standing there?”

Caitlin launched into a fully fledged explanation of exactly how she had managed to replicate Black’s cloning process, while Barry struggled to keep up. He had a reasonable amount of medical knowledge - he was a CSI, after all - but the finer points were definitely lost on him, and his head was still too crowded to process all of this. On top of that, his body was still filled with adrenaline, raring for a fight, and he couldn’t help thinking that he’d run out on Iris and left her hurt and angry with him, so he could stand here and listen to Caitlin excitedly babble about something that was nothing to do with him any more.

“ - And that’s how we figured out how to beat him,” Caitlin was saying. “Sustaining all of those clones takes an enormous amount of strength - the more he creates, the more difficulty he’ll have trying to maintain them. You need to keep an eye out for the prime - that is, Black himself, rather than the clones he’s creating. If you take him out, then you take all of them out. He should be easy to spot - he’ll be showing signs of exertion or fatigue.”

“Guys, we’ve talked about this. I quit, remember? You need to get this information to the police, let them take care of it.”

“The police can’t handle this, Barry.”

They all looked up, startled. Joe was standing in the doorway, gun held at his side. His eyes were on the clone, still unmoving. Warily, Joe moved into the room.

“This guy can make duplicates of himself. There could be hundreds of him. Even if I could make the guys at the CCPD believe in this stuff overnight, we can’t rally against this kind of threat. It’d take an army. No normal man can beat this guy.” Joe’s eyes flickered from the clone to Barry. “You can.”

“I can’t,” Barry said, shaking his head. “Last time I faced up against Black, he beat the crap out of me. I barely made it out.”

“This time is different,” Joe said. “We got you. Caitlin figured out a way to beat him. You can do this, Barry. I believe in you.”

“The police - ”

“Can’t handle this,” Joe said firmly. “They’re not qualified to deal with something this crazy. We gotta fight fire with fire on this one, Barr.”

Barry looked from Joe to Cisco, to Caitlin, who was staring hopefully at him - and then to Wells, who was smiling that inscrutable smile. Then, Wells’ gaze shifted over Barry’s shoulder to gaze at Joe. The two men exchanged a look that went straight over Barry’s head, as if some sort of agreement were being struck between them. 

“I believe in you,” Joe repeated.

Caitlin screamed.

Barry whirled around; Joe’s gun went off, the sound ricocheting violently off the walls, ringing in their ears. Caitlin screamed again, and then Black’s clone slumped to the floor, hitting it with a sickening thump. Limply, he lay there, unmoving.

“It - it just started moving, I didn’t - ”

Clinging to Cisco, Caitlin backed off frantically from the clone. It bled, Barry noticed, just like a real person. A slow red trickle crept across the floor.

Wells moved closer in his wheelchair, craning his neck to look at the prone body on the floor. “It must have been responding to a signal of some sort. Before, the clone was inactive - presumably it started to wake in order to answer a call. Black must be mobilising his army - this clone was responding to the summons.”

“They must be going after Stagg,” Barry said. “That’s Black’s motivator in all this, to make Stagg pay for stealing his research and firing him.”

“Well then you’d best get out there and catch him,” said Joe.

Barry turned and stared. Joe had put his gun away and was giving Barry a look which, when he was a kid, used to mean that Joe was putting his foot down. The look which said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I mean it, Barr. You can do this.”

A slow smile crept across Barry’s face. Even as his stomach fluttered with the beginnings of anxiety, he quashed the feeling. Black had kicked the shit out of him the last time they met - the least Barry owed him was a rematch. And this time, he’d be ready.


	9. Chapter 9

Perched on the fire escape outside of Stagg’s fancy office building, Len shifted his weight, wishing that Stagg had had both the sense and the decency to have his office on the bottom floor. All these bigshot businessmen were the same, carving out a niche at the highest possible point so that they could literally look down upon the masses. Fortunately for Len, this meant that Stagg, and any potential intruders, were trapped at the top of the building with very few escape routes. If Danton Black tried to leave this way, Len would be waiting for him.

Mick had point blank refused to join him on the stakeout, and was waiting in the getaway van a few blocks away, ready to burn rubber the second Len emerged. But Len wasn’t about to let this Danton Black character get away with waving a gun around when Barry was in the room. Once he’d fired a few bullets into Danton’s boffiny brain, he was sure the man would come to see his point of view.

Maybe this was slight overkill, but what could he say? He was protective. And the thought that Barry had ended up passed out on the street at the potential mercy of anyone who walked by made his blood boil. Black was behind that; a few questions whispered in the right ears and bills slipped in the right pockets had determined that fairly easily. Even though Barry had just been a bystander, even though he wasn’t the target, Len was fuming. He wouldn’t sleep at night until he’d taken care of it.

It was chilly on the fire escape, but Len was well used to waiting things out. You couldn’t be a good crook if you didn’t have a certain level of patience. He flexed his gloved hands every few minutes, making sure they didn’t go numb. If the worst came to the worst and Stagg’s security spotted him, he’d need to shoot first and be down the fire escape immediately after, and it was a long way down. 

Too bad he couldn’t have brought Barry along. Kid was like a space heater, especially since he came out of the coma. 

Len almost snorted at the thought of bringing Barry along on a stake-out. God forbid. He’d give the game away by chattering nineteen to the dozen. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have made it up there in the first place Clumsy little bastard would probably have tripped on his way up the fire escape and knocked himself out before they were even halfway to the top.

A sudden flash of light from inside caught Len’s eye and he stilled. 

Could be nothing. Could just be someone switching a lamp on, or using a flashlight. Or, it could be showtime. Slowly, carefully, Len shifted sideways, peering through the glass. He couldn’t get a good view, but he could see figures moving around. Shadowy figures. Lots of them, too - and then -

What the hell was  _ that?  _

Something zipped past too quickly for him to focus on - a blur of red and yellow. Len pressed his face harder against the glass, trying to see, but all he could get was impressions - more bursts of colour, and a whole lot of movement. The blinds were in the way.

Cursing, Len got to his feet and loaded his gun, and then opened the fire door. Earlier that day, he’d taken the liberty of borrowing Barry’s CCPD ID badge - kid always left it at home, his entire wallet had been just lying there on the sofa, practically begging Len to rifle through it - and he’d flashed it at any security guard he passed. Doing this, he’d been able to get all the way up to Stagg’s office and jimmy the door in preparation for his entrance. 

He entered the building noiselessly, although with all the ruckus going on he could probably have gotten away with triggering at least a dozen alarms without anybody noticing. Then he flattered himself against the wall and took a moment to take things in.

There were several men scattered across the room, dressed all in black. Another stood apart from all the rest; a skinny figure in a tight red suit, with some kind of mask over his face. The red man was shouting something couldn’t make out, while one of the men in black argued back. Clearly, that was the ringleader - Black, it had to be.

The next thing Len knew, Black was slammed up against the wall.

Len drew in a sharp intake of breath. He’d never seen anybody move that fast; his eyes had registered little more than a blur. 

Black gave a colossal shove and the man in the red suit staggered back, thrown off balance. This was Len’s chance. He aimed the gun. Nice clean shot to the head - Mr. Red would probably thank him for it.

Then Black shuddered and stepped out of himself.

Then again. And again, over and over, multiple men stepping out of where Black had been, milling protectively around him. Len lost sight of the original, biting back curses as his gun wavered from head to head. It was too hard to see clearly from where he stood, but he could have sworn they all had the same fucking face.

Either there had been some spectacular drugs in that drink he’d had earlier, or that stupid rumour at the bar clearly wasn’t anywhere near as stupid as he’d thought it was. 

Black kept multiplying over and over, and the man in red zipped backwards, clearly trying to get some room to manoeuvre. Fast as he was, he was quickly surrounded, dozens of black-clad figures grabbing at him, trying to haul him down. He was covered in them, dragging at his arms and chest, pulling him to the ground, burying him beneath a pile of churning bodies, like ants crushing an insect.

Len didn’t know the red-clad man from Adam, but he figured if the guy was after Black, they had a common enemy. Besides which, he didn’t much like being over his head and there seemed only one way to even the stakes. 

Time to find out whether these multiplying fuckers bled just like everyone else.

He wasn’t discriminatory: he took aim at a random head and fired. 

The jerked, blood spurting from the back of his scalp, and collapsed to the ground. Every head swivelled in the room to look at where Len stood. He couldn’t possibly have drawn more attention to himself, but damn, had it been satisfying. 

There was a bonus to this, he realised: at least he got the chance to shoot Danton Black more than once.

Len aimed again, shooting three more of them before they had the sense to start coming for him. One of them tripped, falling over one of the fallen clones, and then dozens of them were falling, slamming into each other, getting into each other’s way.  They were still multiplying all the time, the room filling with dark-haired doppelgangers. This was a mistake; the more of them there were, the more there were to trample and shove and inadvertently block. Len was a safe distance away from any of them, far enough that he dared shoot several more and totally empty his gun before he started backing off, back out of the fire escape. He could be reckless, but he wasn’t a total idiot.

His distraction, ineffective as it was in the grand scheme of things, gave the man in red the opportunity to throw off his assailants and shoot off in the opposite direction, getting away from all the clones. That was all Len had time to take in before he was back on the fire escape with the wind whistling around him, his heart pounding.

None of them were after him yet. His way down the fire escape was clear, but that was the obvious escape route. Len stowed his gun back in its holster, put one foot on the window ledge, and heaved himself up.

Bracing his other foot on the edge of the fire escape, he pushed himself up further and kept climbing. If it weren’t for the red man, he’d never have dared to do something so risky, but he was banking on Black being more concerned about the super-speeding lunatic in red pyjamas than an everyday average Joe with a gun. 

A few more shoves and grunts and then he was on the roof with the wind buffeting violently at him. Dropping down on his belly, he lay flat and then crawled, squirming right to the centre so that if anyone looked up, he wouldn’t be visible. Then he waited, heart pounding, to see what would happen next.

The main disadvantage of being up here, apart from the fact he’d cut himself off from his own escape route, was that he had no way of knowing what was going on inside. Had the man in red been overcome? Were Black’s duplicates pouring out through the fire escape to subdue Len? He waited for what felt like hours, until his heart had almost slowed. He was in the clear. 

Then, the sound of shouting made him stiffen. 

It wasn’t coming from behind him, but from the other side of the building. Len squirmed across, getting slime and rainwater and muck all over himself, cold seeping through his clothes. His jacket and sweater rode up, exposing his stomach, and he grimaced at the feel of the dampness on bare skin. But then he was right at the edge of the building, and before he could lose his nerve, he peered over the edge.

The drop was immense. Len had never been particularly afraid of heights, but that would be a daunting view for just about anyone. Far below, the city was little more than a mess of bright lights; all the cars the size of ants, and the people not even visible at all.

Except for the man in red, who was dangling out of the window with Danton Black hanging onto his arm.

Len froze. The man in red was desperately trying to keep Black from falling. Len was way too close to either of them for his liking; if Black looked up and saw him, it was game over  - but the freak was too focused on not falling to his death to look anywhere other than his rescuer’s face.

“Hold on!” the man in red yelled.

An extra hand was growing out of Black’s wrist, which was the most disturbing thing Len had ever seen. For a moment, it seemed like he was using the extra hand to try and tighten his grip. But then the extra fingers of the second hand started prying at the gloved fingers of the man in red, struggling to loosen his grip.

“Don’t!” shouted the man. 

Black slipped through his hands.  He didn’t even scream as he dropped, plummeting down towards the bright lights of the city.

The man in red froze, still hanging out of the window, one arm still outstretched as if he could somehow still catch Black before he hit the ground. An eternity seemed to pass with Len still lying there, waiting for him to turn around and spot him, whilst Len was still transfixed by the emptiness into which Black had vanished.

The man in red turned around and buried his face in his hands.

Len decided this was an opportune moment to make his getaway.

Squirming backwards, he made sure he was right in the centre of the roof and in no danger of falling, then he got to his feet and hurried back to the edge. There were prone bodies on the fire escape, but none of them even twitched. Either they were lying in wait to jump up and seize him, or they’d all been deactivated when Black fell. Len didn’t wait to find out; soon, the man in red would be coming to investigate his guardian angel, the man who’d been shooting his opponents for him. Somehow Len doubted he’d get a thank you. He hadn’t even had the chance to shoot Black for himself. What a waste of time. 

It made his stomach churn, but he turned himself backwards and let his feet dangle over the edge, slowly, slowly feeling his way down. For a moment his bottom half dangled in empty air - but then the sole of his boot found a window ledge and he gave it his weight, then his other foot, still clinging to the edge of the rooftop, and then he dared look down and it was just a little drop and then he was on solid ground again, safely back on the fire escape surrounded by bodies.

After that he didn’t waste any more time. Stepping over the mass of clones, he headed back down the stairs with all the rapid grace of a cat, ignoring the banisters. His boots had good soles, he wouldn’t slip, had to rely on himself and hope that the man in red would be too distraught by Black’s death to come after him. That made no sense to Len; clearly the red man and Black had been enemies, Len had clearly seen Red slam Black up against the wall, and now he was mourning him? No time to puzzle over it now, however. He still had ten floors to go, and a healthy new respect for heights.

No one rejoiced harder than Leonard Snart when he was finally back on solid ground, but he had no time to celebrate. Instead, he had to run six blocks to find where they had parked the van.

When he finally reached it and yanked the door open, an empty tube of pringles and three bags of popcorn spilled out into the street. Len kicked them out of the way and swung himself up into the passenger seat. A bit of littering was the least of his problems right now.

“Drive,” he ordered.

Mick raised an eyebrow, one hand buried deeply in a half-empty bag of chips. “The hell happened to you?”

“Just drive, Mick,” Len snarled. 

Grunting, Mick dumped his chips, which spilled out all over his lap, put the truck into gear and slammed onto the accelerator. They went careening round a corner, Len fastening his seatbelt even as the van wobbled and lurched, and then they were on the main road and speeding up and he allowed himself to breathe a little easier. If the man in red had followed him, he’d have caught him by now. If he could move that quickly, in less than the blink of an eye, he’d easily outrun a bulky white van.

“What the hell was that all about?” Mick grumbled, changing gears.

“That,” Len said, putting his feet up on the dashboard, “was what we in the business refer to as ‘a close call’.”

~*~

 

 

“Run it by us again,” Caitlin said, probing at a nasty bruise on Barry’s side where one of the clones had dealt him a particularly vicious kick. “Exactly what happened before Black fell.”

He'd returned to S.T.A.R Labs, bruised and battered and trying desperately to stave off the memory of Danton Black falling to his death, literally slipping through Barry's fingers. He never thought he'd have been grateful for all of their questions, but it was a welcome distraction. Instead of thinking about the man he had failed to save, he was able to focus on something else: the mystery gunman who had ensured that it wasn't Barry falling to his death instead.

“Someone was helping me,” he said, wincing as her gloved fingers prodded at a particularly tender spot. “No idea who it was. I went in there and Black started multiplying straight off the bat, trying to subdue me. I fought back, but I made a mistake, I let a few of him get behind me. As I was trying to fight them all off, I lost sight of the real Black, and they were all dragging me down, I thought I was done for…” He took a deep breath. “And someone started shooting.”

“You get a glimpse? Clothing, vague description, ethnicity, anything?” asked Joe.

Barry shook his head. “I thought maybe it was you, at first. That you’d sent back-up. But whoever it was didn’t seem to know about the prime; they just kept shooting randomly, I have no idea why. But whatever their deal was, they distracted Black’s clones, and shot enough of them to allow me to fight my way free of the rest. And then they disappeared through the fire escape.”

Wells was watching him intently. “Did you go after them?”

“I had to focus on Black. I couldn’t risk letting him get away again. And then after I took all the clones out, after he fell…” Barry swallowed. “My head wasn’t really in the right place. I screwed up; I couldn’t save him.”

“Some people can’t be saved,” Wells said quietly. “Some broken things can’t be fixed.”

“And some broken things come back stronger,” Barry said. He even managed a smile.

There was no doubt about it; this heavy feeling in his chest was going to stick with him for a while. Already, he kept getting flashes of Black’s hopeless face, of the quiet determination as he scrabbled at Barry’s fingers, trying to get loose. He was certain those images would feature prominently in his nightmares from now on… but there was a silver lining. Someone out there had helped him. Whether it was a coincidence or a calculated move, someone had had his back when he needed them the most. His smile grew ever so slightly.

“Well, we have to thank our mystery gunman,” Cisco said, waving around a lollipop. “If it weren’t for them, you’d have had a whole lot more trouble stopping  _ Multiplex _ .”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. Barry grinned.

“Told you I’d come up with a cooler name,” Cisco said smugly, popping the lollipop back into his mouth. 

“You’re right,” Barry said. “Guess I’ve got a guardian angel out there.”

“That you do, Mr. Allen,” said Wells. “That you do.”

 

~*~

 

It was late that evening when Barry finally got home. The shower was running when he got in; he’d kind of like to jump in there himself, but he was too exhausted to do anything other than flop bonelessly onto the sofa, lie there and doze.

He jumped a little when Len came to sit down beside him, wrapped in a towel. His skin was cool as he pressed his cheek against Barry’s. Relieved, Barry relaxed into him. God, it felt good to be able to leave all of the madness of the day behind and just let Len hold him.

“Hello, stranger,” Len said. 

“Hey, honey.”

“Long day? You look wiped out.”

“Mm.” Barry yawned. “Work stuff. And S.T.A.R Labs.”

“They run those tests? Or do I have to go shove that stick in Snow’s ass a little deeper, see if it comes out through her mouth?”

Barry shoved him tiredly. “They ran them.”

“And?”

“Low blood sugar. Maybe I’m not such a coward after all. Just need to start eating more.”

“I never thought you were a coward,” Len said. “But low blood sugar explains a lot. I’ll have to start making more dessert.”

“Mm… sounds nice,” Barry said sleepily.

They were quiet for a while, Len with one arm thrown around Barry’s shoulders, stroking Barry’s bare arm with his thumb. Dimly, Barry acknowledged that he should probably get that shower, or at least undress and get ready for bed, but he couldn’t summon the energy. All he wanted to do was snooze all over Len.

“How was work?” he mumbled.

“Nothing to report,” Len said. Then, “Barry, I would die for you, but if you don’t stop drooling on me I will put poison in your cereal tomorrow morning.”

Groaning, Barry wiped at his mouth. “I’m sorry. Falling asleep.”

“Evidently,” Len said. “Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll come and join you in a little while.”

With a lot of grumbling and complaining, Barry managed to haul his leaden body off the couch and stagger into the bathroom. He didn’t bother changing; pyjamas were too much effort. Instead, he focused on cleaning his teeth, which seemed like a monumental task when he was quite this drained. 

He was heading out of the bathroom when he stumbled over something unpleasantly damp. Bewildered, he picked it up and held it between thumb and forefinger. It looked like Len’s leather jacket, only it seemed to be covered in some kind of slimy substance. Barry frowned and swiped his finger through the mess. It came away covered in a thick coating of mud.

“Honey?”

“What?”

“What’s this on your jacket?”

Len poked his head around the door, eyed the filthy jacket in Barry’s hand, and said mildly, “It looks like dirt to me.”

“Yeah, but where the hell have you been to get this dirty?”

“I’m a janitor,” Len reminded him. “I had to clear out a bunch of gutters. It was kind of dirty up there.”

“Don’t you have some kind of uniform for that?”

“Yeah, if I wanted to freeze to death,” Len said a little irritably. “Can’t blame a man for wanting a couple of extra layers. Are you coming to bed, or not? Thought you were tired.”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” said Barry, dropping the jacket back on the floor. He’d handle laundry another day.


	10. Chapter 10

Barry watched fondly as Len bustled around the apartment. He  was making oatmeal, topping it with blueberries and a sprinkle of sugar, humming to himself as he did so. Barry rested his chin on his hand and smiled. He didn't often see Len acting this outwardly happy - it was usually disguised by sarcasm and eye-rolling - but it was a sight worth seeing.  
  
Come to think of it, over the past few days, Len had been almost buoyant, wandering around on cloud nine, always with a little smirk on his face. Not that Barry wasn't pleased, but he'd kill to know what was making Len so unusually cheerful.  


"You're in a good mood this morning," he commented as Len sat down and dug into his breakfast.  
  
"And why wouldn't I be? I have everything I could have ever wanted." 

Leaning across the table, Len touched Barry on the nose with the tip of his spoon. A small blob of oatmeal was left behind. Grinning, Barry wiped it away. 

“I have you,” Len said softly. “I have a job. I have a roof over my head. I have a couple of friends, which is more than any man needs. What more could I ask for?”

“So ambitious,” Barry teased. “You might wanna reign that in a little, I’m not sure it’s realistic.”

“Seems to be working out okay for me so far.”

"Careful, you’ll jinx it. ...What are you up to today, anyway?" asked Barry, starting on his third bowl of cereal.   
  
"Nothing in particular. Probably just gonna relax, watch a few movies. Might do laundry."    
  
"There really _ is _ something wrong with you today."   
  
Len shrugged. "I did the laundry by myself for nine months. Well. Eight and a half. For the first few weeks I had bigger concerns than a couple of dirty socks." He eyed Barry's breakfast. "You're really gonna eat all that?"    
  
Barry shrugged. "I'm hungry. And Caitlin told me I need to start eating more. Being in the coma started to eat my muscles. Gotta build my strength up."    
  
Len accepted this explanation without comment. "And what are your plans for today?"    
  
"I need to go see Joe and Iris. I had a massive fight with both of them yesterday and I didn't get round to apologising yet."    
  
"You're fighting with Joe? It's my lucky day. But I thought you'd got everything straight with him."    
  
Barry sighed. "There are some things Joe and I have been fighting about for a long time. Some habits are hard to break, I guess."    
  
"And Iris?"    
  
"I was supposed to be helping her get her head around the science for her article about Simon Stagg. But after everything that went down, I guess I forgot to meet up with her. When she came to find me, I picked a fight about Wally."    
  
"Has anyone ever told you you're an idiot?"    
  
"Pretty often, actually."    
  
"I would like to state for the record that I agree with that diagnosis." Len got up and put his bowl in the sink. "Go do your grovelling, and this time try to keep your jealousy on a leash. It never goes down well."    
  
"Worked okay for you and me," Barry pointed out.    
  
"Those were special circumstances. Anyway, you should know that I'm a terrible example of anything. Whatever I do, you should do the opposite of that." Len turned around and leaned against the counter. "Can you be done apologising by six?"    
  
"Well I sure hope so. Why?"    
  
"There's a new restaurant that just opened on the other side of town; I've been meaning to try it out. How do you feel about date night?"    
  
"I feel very positive about date night," Barry said, beaming. "I'll meet you back here at five?"    
  
"Wear something nice," Len said. "A suit."    
  
"Only if you wear one too. I'm not sitting there like an ass in a suit and tie if you're gonna be there in a leather jacket and jeans."    
  
"It's been too long since I've taken you out to dinner. I'm definitely gonna wear a suit." Len turned his back on him. "Now go! Apologise. God knows you need the practice."    
  


~*~

  
The first indication that Barry's apology wasn't going to quite go as he planned was when he knocked on Joe's front door and Wally opened it.   


There was a moment of silence in which Barry seriously considered running away. Wally pressed his lips together in a brave attempt at a smile, which Barry imitated.    


"Uh. Hey, Wally. Is Joe in?" He felt like a little kid coming round to ask if Joe could come round to his house for a play date.   
  
"Yeah, he's around here somewhere." Wally stuck his head back inside the house. "DAD!" he yelled.

They both waited.  
  
"He'll probably be down in a minute," said Wally. Then, "Oh. Do you wanna come in?"  
  
"Sure," Barry said awkwardly, and Wally took a step back and allowed him to squeeze in through the front door.

Joe's house looked exactly the same as it had when he'd last been in it a few weeks prior. He’d never found out where Wally had been that night - presumably keeping out of the way to try and keep Barry's post-coma brain from imploding at the sight of him. Considerate of Joe and Iris to let him have a few weeks of thinking things were normal before he realised they were actually the complete opposite.

Wally seemed to take up a hell of a lot of space in Joe's hallway. He folded his arms.

"So," Barry said awkwardly, remembering of his conversation with Iris and thinking he'd better make some kind of effort. "How's school?"  
  
"Good. How's work?"  
  
"Oh, uh. Work is fine. Been busy, y'know?"

They lapsed back into silence. Wally glanced back at the stairs.  
  
"My dad should be down soon."  
  
"Mm," said Barry. "Look, I just wanted to thank you for looking after me the other night. You know, at the party, I was kind of a mess..."  
  
"That's okay. Did you get home okay?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Leonard took care of me."  
  
"He's a great guy," said Wally, smiling.  
  
Barry blinked. "Yeah, he is," he said a little defensively. He knew Len was a good guy, but he wasn't used to people agreeing with him. Remembering their conversation the other night, he tried not to let this bother him - Len had no interest in Wally whatsoever - but he still felt a flutter of unease in the pit of his stomach.

Just then, Joe poked his head out over the banister. Barry thanked all the gods above and below.

"Hey, Barr. I wasn't expecting you."  
  
"Yeah, I probably should have called first... you got a minute? I need to talk to you."  
  
"Sure, I'll be right down."

They ended up sat at the kitchen table while Barry struggled to phrase his apology. Like Len said, he needed practice.

"Look, Joe, it's about what I said the other day... I know things were crazy, and I was mad, but that's not an excuse, and -"

Barry paused. Midway through his sentence, Wally had wandered in and started rooting through the fridge. He hesitated, waiting for Joe to ask Wally to leave. Joe didn't seem to be picking up on the hint, though.

To hell with it, he decided. If Wally wanted to listen in, then that was up to him. It wasn't as if this was Flash business; he didn't care who heard him.

"I wanted to apologise for what I said."  
  
"You don't have to apologise, Barr. You were right. I'm not your dad."  
  
"No," Barry agreed. "You're not."

He heard a sharp intake of breath, but he wasn't sure if it came from Joe or Wally. Regardless, he carried on.

"I have a dad, Joe. No one's ever gonna replace him - not that I think you'd want to. But you raised me. Like you said, you took me in. You fed and clothed me even when I was ungrateful and fought you all the way. You helped me with my homework, you taught me how to defend myself when I got bullied. You gave me the sex talk, much as I wish you hadn't. You taught me how to drive and shave and helped me get into college. So maybe you aren't my dad - but you're still my father."

Wally slammed the fridge door closed and stormed out.

Startled, Barry turned around. "What's his problem?"  
  
Joe opened his mouth, closed it again, and smiled. "Wally's... at a difficult age. Don't worry about it." He clapped Barry on the shoulder. "I appreciate what you just said, Barr. I do. I still see you as my son. And we wouldn’t be family if we didn’t argue every now and then… Speaking of which. I hear you had a bit of a fall-out with Iris.”  
  
“It was a rough day.”  
  
Joe lowered his voice. “You heard about this article she’s doing?”  
  
“I tried to talk her out of it. The last thing I want Iris doing is digging any deeper into the Flash.”  
  
“I hear they’re calling him the Streak.”  
  
“I don’t like the Streak. It’s the Flash.”  
  
“No offence, but I really don’t care,” said Joe. “Streak, Flash, it’s all the same to me. The important thing is that I don’t want my baby girl getting mixed up in this. We both agreed to protect her, and that means keeping her well away from all of this.”  
  
“It’s not like I encouraged it, I told her it was all crazy!”

“So now she’s gotta prove you wrong. You know Iris. I spent her entire childhood trying to talk her out of being a cop, and it only made her more determined. It’s only once I stopped pushing her that she chose a different career path, and it took some careful steering in the right direction to get her there. You gotta be subtle with this, Barr. And for the love of god, try and keep our red friend out of view of the cameras. While he’s still front page news, Iris still has a hot story to work on. If the Flash ducks outta the limelight, she’ll find something new to write about.”  
  
“I hope you’re right,” Barry muttered. "I'll talk to her. "Do you know where she is?"  
  
"Still in her room, as best I can tell."

Barry ascended the stairs with one hand on the banister, rubbing over the grooves the buckles of Iris' shoes had made when she was around eight years old and Barry convinced her to slide down them. Barry's mom had grounded him, and threatened to use his allowance to fix the damage. Nothing had ever come of it; Joe said it was Iris' fault just as much as Barry's. She should have known better. The grooves were still there, and they made him smile as he reached the top.

For a moment he lingered outside his old room. He was tempted to have a look inside and see exactly how many changes Wally had wrought, if there were any traces left of Barry in there at all... but he could hear the low thrum of music coming from inside. He stepped away from the door.

It was probably just as well, he told himself. No use torturing himself.

It had been a long time since Barry had caught more than a quick glimpse of Iris' room, through its many evolutions over the years. As a kid he'd visited often, and he would sit cross-legged on Iris' purple carpet as they worked out complicated imaginary games with her Barbies and her Lego and the wooden building blocks and the toy cars and the mannequin head with the hair you could style (the mannequin usually played the role of an evil cyborg giant, or an alien warship, and all the Barbies and Lego people were the brave survivors trying to defeat it.) They did jigsaws and drank juice which occasionally got spilt - Barry was usually the first to knock his over with a clumsy gesture - and they talked and talked about everything.

After Barry's mom died and he moved in with them, he hadn't spent a lot of time in Iris' room any more. He hated the house, hated Joe. Didn't hate Iris, but didn't much want to spend time with her, either. He spent half his time running away and the other half lying on his new bed in the new room he didn't want, with his belongings looking weird and wrong in Joe's house, and half of them still in evidence lock-up anyway. Staring up at the ceiling plotting ever more convoluted escape plans, Iris' room - or anywhere else in this house - was the last place he had wanted to be.

When they were in their early teens and Barry was finally coming to accept that he'd be living with the Wests for good, Joe had come up with this weird rule that Barry was no longer allowed in Iris' room with the door shut, and vice versa. This confused Barry for a while. When he finally figured out the reasoning behind it, he was kind of grossed out. Back then, he'd still firmly believed that his feelings for Iris were Love with a capital L, that he wanted to marry her, and that was that. Regardless, he had no intention of making out with her - or worse, that other thing. It had actually made him feel a little ill just thinking about it.

A couple of years later, when Barry discovered he wasn't actually in love with Iris and nervously came out during a 'family meeting' in the living room, Joe quietly abolished that last rule. Still, it had become habit by then, and they had stopped spending time in each other's rooms. If they wanted to talk, they did it downstairs.

As a result, he hadn't been in her room for a long while.  
  
He remembered her first bedroom - the purple carpet with the juice stains, firm reminders of Barry's clumsiness; the pink and lilac wallpaper that Iris threw a fit about several years later, when she decided pink was the Worst Ever and she would have nothing more to do with it. Then came a few short years of sky blue walls and pale carpet that showed way too much dirt, followed by the black and white theme that Joe dragged his heels over, eventually allowed, and was proved completely right about. As cool as the zebra print looked, it didn't change the fact that all that black turned the room into a bat-cave. Nevertheless, Iris stubbornly stuck it out for the next few years, until she'd finally got sick of it and saved up her money from Jitters to redecorate. 

Plum walls, a rich chocolate brown carpet. Cream detailing, including the curtains and bedspread. Barry had poked his head around the door a couple of times since she finished the painting and teased her about living inside a chocolate gateaux, but Iris had just rolled her eyes at him and ignored it.

It was strange being in there without her. The room was cool and strangely peaceful, not even a whisper of Wally’s music trickling from down the hall. The majority of the room was meticulously organised; even the laundry basket looked tidy - but her desk was organised chaos. Sheafs of papers all clipped together, several mugs full of pens, a couple of overflowing notebooks all filled with her elegant handwriting, and her laptop taking pride of place in the centre of it all, still powered up. Barry drew closer. She was midway through working on an article, which, he realised with a sinking heart, was all about the Flash. Burning with curiosity, Barry drew closer. It looked like Iris would only be gone for a minute, but the article wasn’t long and if he used his speed it would take him less than a second to read the whole thing.

Sighing, Barry hit save and then closed the lid of the laptop. Just because he  _ could  _ snoop didn’t mean he should.

A noise from behind him made him turn. Iris stood in the doorway, holding a mug.

“Barry! I didn’t realise you were here.”

“Wally let me in.”

“Oh, so that’s what all the banging was about. Did you pick a fight with him, too?” She tilted her head wryly. “Did he try to close the fridge door on your head?”

“Actually, I was trying to say sorry to Joe and I don’t think Wally liked the sound of my apology.”

“Well, that makes sense. Your apologies are terrible.” She crossed the room, put her mug down on the desk, and folded her arms.

Sensing he was on dangerous ground, Barry flailed for a change of subject. “So you’re still writing about this red streak?”

“Yeah,” Iris said. “Despite the fact that you told me it was crazy and my professor would hate it, they actually said it was a really interesting piece. A lot of people are interested in this story, so I’m gonna strike while the iron’s hot. I’ve posted a couple of pieces online, actually. They’re getting pretty good feedback so far.”

His plans to start gently coaxing her to drop the issue fizzled and died. If he kept discouraging her now, it would ruin his prospective apology and only make her more mad at him. Barry wracked his brains. At some point, maybe he could convince her to start writing about something else, but right now the safest course of action was to go along with it.

He opened with, “I shouldn’t have said what I said about your article.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t! It really hurt my feelings. I thought you’d support me, Barry, you’ve always been so...open-minded.”

“That’s just it, Iris; I think I’ve been  _ too  _ open-minded. All these years, I’ve believed in anything someone would push under my nose. Any conspiracy theory under the sun and I bought it. Aliens. Area 51. Bigfoot, the Illuminati, you name it. And what Joe said to me the other day made me realise that it’s not good for me to keep clinging to all that stuff. I’m trying to work on putting it all behind me, so when you started talking about the Flash…”

“The Flash?” Iris frowned. “They’re calling him the Streak.”

“I think the Flash is better,” Barry said, then caught himself. “Uh, I read a blog post about it, and that was the name they used for him. Or her.”

“It’s definitely a guy,” said Iris. “Trust me on this one. But why were you reading about him in the first place?”

“Because I think maybe I was too hasty about saying it was all a load of crap. I’m just… I feel like there’s a fine line between what’s plausible for me to believe, and all the other stuff I’ve been believing in all these years. It’s hard for me. There is evidence that the Flash - the Streak - exists out there, and I can see that, but there’s also evidence for Bigfoot, or dragons, or any crazy theory you can think of if you spend long enough on the internet. I’m just trying to get my head straight, and when you started talking about this, it was difficult for me to take a step back from that.”

“Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning, Barry?” Iris asked, concernedly touching his hand.

“Because I...am a douche,” Barry said. This was it. His big apology. Praying he wouldn’t mess it up, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I completely screwed up with your first article when I should have helped you, and that was a terrible thing to do. And then I brought up my issues with Wally… that wasn’t relevant. Or helpful. I’m sorry.”

“Wow,” said Iris. “That was actually pretty decent. You should apologise like that more often.”

“I mean, I’d prefer it if I didn’t do dumb things that I needed to apologise for at all, but… actually, I’m not done.” He swallowed. “I also wanted to tell you that you were right about Wally. I can’t just pretend like he doesn’t exist; he’s important to you. He’s your family, so in a way, he’s like my family. I’m going to try harder to get along with him. For you and Joe.”

Iris stared at him. Barry felt like he’d zipped out of his own body and  _ he  _ was staring at himself too. He’d rehearsed his entire apology in his head on the way over and none of that stuff about Wally had been in there. But he had to admit, although he hadn’t meant to say it, he hadn’t been wrong. Wally wasn’t going to vanish just because Barry wished he would. It was time to make an effort.

“Wow,” Iris said again.

“Was that okay? Because I can grovel, if it helps…”

“No, Barry, that was great. As apologies go, it was pretty impressive, actually. I’m proud of you.”

Barry shrugged. “Well, I guess I owe you for making the effort to get along with Leonard Joe could still use a little encouragement, but maybe if he sees me trying a bit harder with Wally…”

“You know, when you were in the coma, my dad and Leonard actually kind of got along.”

“Yeah, and the minute I woke up Joe went back to calling him a manipulative liar and making out like he’s trying to make me crazy.”

“Look,” said Iris, “Leonard proved his loyalty to you while you were in the hospital, but sometime, he could be kinda scary. It was intense. We were all worried about you, but Leonard reacted… violently. The night it happened, when you were in intensive care, he vanished in the middle of the night and came back covered in blood. That scared the shit out of us both, and we still have no idea what happened. It’s hard for us to see him being so… gentle with you, when we really have no idea what he’s capable of. My dad is doing the best he can under the circumstances.”

“I didn’t know that,” Barry said quietly. The worst part was, he could kind of believe it. Len had never been anything but a gentleman where Barry was concerned, but Barry knew he could be argumentative - even outright confrontational. If Len came across the wrong person at the wrong time… Barry wouldn’t put it past him to pick a fight.

“He probably just got into a fight,” Iris said, echoing his thoughts. “He’d already tried to punch half the orderlies in the hospital by the time he stormed out, he was a mess. But you can understand why we would be concerned about that.”

“I know, Iris, but things are different now. Anyone would go a little crazy in a situation like that. You don’t have to be on eggshells around him. Len’s not perfect, but he would never hurt me or anybody I cared about. You have to believe that.”

“I’ll try,” Iris said. “Thank you for not being mad at me.”

“I’m never gonna be mad at you for telling me the truth, Iris. You’re my best friend. I love you, you know I do. You can tell me anything.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I know things have been...different, since the coma. But I don’t want things to change between us, not because of Wally or Leonard or anyone.” Iris pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have to tell you something. I’ve been thinking about this for a while... I haven’t told Wally, I haven’t even told my dad, I don’t know how well he’d take it. This is gonna sound super weird, but - ”

A knock on the door made them both jump. Joe poked his head around the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Barr, we’ve got an emergency at the precinct. Singh gave me a call, asked us both to come in. We’ve got a whole lot of bodies. Someone took a hit on the Darbinian crime family; they’re all lying dead on the floor of some restaurant. They need us at the crime scene.”

“Shit,” Barry said, leaping to his feet. If Central City’s crime families started taking hits at each other, they could be in big trouble. A whole bunch of dead mobsters turning up was a slippery slope. “Iris, I’m sorry - I’ve gotta go - ”

“Oh,” Iris said. She managed a smile. “That’s okay! You gotta do what you gotta do. Go catch a killer.”

“Will do,” said Barry, and he followed Joe out through the door.

He was halfway down the corridor, mind buzzing like a hive, when he remembered that Iris had been about to tell him something.

Rushing back into the room, he said, “Hey, uh, what were you gonna say just then? About what you haven’t told Wally and Joe?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Iris said. “I’ll tell you some other time. Go!”

“If you’re sure, then - okay, we’ll - I’ll go,” Barry said, and he raced off in pursuit of Joe, who was already halfway down the front path.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update, because the last chapter was kind of filler-y and i felt we needed more action!!
> 
> this chapter contains smut; dirty talk, name-calling, mild slut-shaming in a sexual context. to avoid, stop reading at "I'm not a patient man, I don't like to be kept waiting," and start again at "He padded through to the bathroom to fetch a washcloth."

FLASH STRIKES AGAIN.

SCARLET SPEEDSTER SAVES CENTRAL CITY!

SAVING THE DAY IN A FLASH!

As he clicked on another article, Len found himself staring at yet another blurry photograph; the closest any of the reporters could get to a picture of the man they were calling ‘The Scarlet Speedster’. Len rolled his eyes.

While Barry was out for the day, he’d found himself boredly trawling the internet, specifically looking for articles about the Strea. Len had never been one to follow the news - he didn’t see the point of gawping morbidly at a screen, drinking in hundreds of atrocities per day. And there was, with the local news, always the risk that something he’d done might be on there. He didn’t need that kind of stress, wondering if it could be traced back to him, if someone he knew might see it and get suspicious. But ever since the incident with Danton Black, he hadn’t been able to get the man in red out of his mind.

Maybe it was the fact that he was the polar opposite to all of the other metas who had made themselves known in the city. There had been a handful of them now, growing all the time. They didn’t always make front page news, but Len was keeping his ear close to the ground, and he had heard an awful lot of whispers over the past few months which suddenly made a whole lot more sense. Rumours about people brimming with powers that they didn’t know quite what to do with, wreaking havoc. Usually it was directionless and poorly thought out; none of them had any concept of subtlety. Then again, he supposed they didn’t really need it. With the powers these people had, what prison cell could hold them? What cop could stand in their way? Their only obstacle for their petty revenge plots and extravagant thefts was another metahuman like them: The Streak. Apparently the only meta in the city noble enough to resist the temptation of using his powers for his own benefit.

It was such a _waste._

For a moment, Len allowed his mind to wander. It was a well-trained thing, and always came when called, but every now and then he found it useful to give it a free reign. Oh, what he could do with the powers the Streak had. All of the articles were scant on the details; the only thing they agreed upon was that he was fast. Too fast to photograph clearly, too fast to catch more than a glimpse. Just a blur of red in the peripheral vision. Len himself had seen the Streak in action, and he could vouch for the fact; he hadn’t even been able to focus on the man when he was in motion, flitting past too fast to catch the eye. To be as fast as that was frightening… and more than a little intriguing. If Len had an ability like that, he could have robbed every bank in the city in a single night. Beaten the crap out of everyone who’d ever stabbed him in the back or pissed him off, and been gone before they’d even registered the first blow. There were several people on his hit-list; his dear old daddy for one.

He’d never need another getaway car. Never be afraid again of being caught. It was a beautiful thought. What he wouldn’t give to have someone like that on his side. Him, Mick, and the Scarlet Speedster. The dream team.

Sadly, the Streak was too much of a boring do-gooder to ever agree to join his little Rogues’ gallery.

_Maybe he could be persuaded,_ said a little voice in the back of his head.

Warily, Len paused. That little voice in his head had been a staunch friend over the years; it had given him some sound advice. Sometimes it was paranoid, ridiculous, obnoxiously jealous and more than a little cruel, but every now and then it said something worth listening to, so he didn’t like to dismiss it outright.

_Everyone has a breaking point. For most people, it’s easy. Greed makes monsters. All it takes is a little money. Not this guy. He’ll need something a little more… persuasive._

Leaning back in his chair, Len eyed the most recent article. A traffic camera had caught a glimpse of the Streak running by, and promptly short-circuited. He’d been running too fast for its little machine brain to handle.

The things he could do with a man that fast.

To the little voice in the back of his head, he said, _I’m listening._

~*~

 

“Just think about it, Mick. We could rob every bank in the city in just one night. Ten jewellery stores in the space of half an hour. In and out before the alarm bells even started ringing. No more risk, no more cops on our asses. We wouldn’t even have to be there. All we’d have to do is point him in the right direction and wait for the cash to roll in. And then the next night, we point him at another bank in another city and do the whole thing all over again!”

They were sat at the kitchen table in Barry and Len’s apartment, Len having just told Mick all about his brainwave. The laptop was still open, six different tabs open all bearing articles about the Streak and his exploits. Mick hadn’t looked at a single one, and he was looking very dubious. Len was certain those two things were related.

“And what makes you think this metahuman freak would wanna team up with us? If he wanted to go around robbing banks, he’d have done it by now. You don’t have a chance, Snart. He’s a total white-hat.” Mick leaned back dangerously far in the kitchen chair, the one with the wobbly leg. Len didn’t see fit to warn him.

“I don’t propose he joins us willingly,” he said. “We make him an offer and we’d have our asses handed to us and be in jail within the hour. His self-righteous ass would whisk us away before he even had time to think about it.”

“Then what _do_ you propose?”

Elbow on the table, Len rested his chin in his hand, perfectly casual. “I can be… persuasive.”

Mick waited. That was how Len knew he had him.

Simmering with triumph, he leaned forwards a little. He’d always had a way with words when he needed to convince people; it was all part of being a good con. The right gesture, the right pause, and you could have anyone eating out of your hand. Mick had known him for too long to be fooled by any amount of charisma he could pump out, but every now and then Len wove the right amount of magic and drew Mick in just as perfectly as he could with anyone else.

“Everyone has a breaking point. For most people, it’s simple. You apply the right amount of pressure, of pain, and any man has a point where he’ll…” He trailed off. “Crack.”

“Torture,” Mick said. “Hmm.” He looked thoughtful. “Again, another problem with your plan. The Streak can run at hundreds of miles per hour. The slightest hint of danger and he’s off with his tail between his legs. What makes you think we can catch him for long enough to torture him?”

Len smirked. “I never said it was him we’d be torturing.”

It took a second for Mick to catch on, but not long. They knew each other too well. “Ah! You wanna go after the people he cares about. Friends. Family.”

“Give the man a gold star. Got it in one.”

“Yet again, your plan is full of holes, Snart. To go after the family, first you’d have to know who they are. Find the connection. We’ve got no way of finding anybody this guy’s connected to. Nobody knows who he is.”

“And that,” Len said, “is what I intend to find out.”

Just then, there was a bang as the front door flew open. The spell was broken; Len leaned lazily back in his chair, while Mick lost his intense look and started slouching, so that the wobbly kitchen chair no longer looked ten sizes too small for him to sit on.

“Honey, I’m home!” Barry called, with all of the usual ruckus that accompanied his arrivals. The thump of converse hitting the carpet, the muted swearing as he immediately tripped over them. Bags and clothes rustling, the front door slamming behind him.

“Think about it,” Len said quietly, and then raised his voice. “In here, Barr.”

Barry burst into the room, a whirlwind of windswept hair, swinging briefcase and cheerful expression.

“Oh, hey Mick. What are you guys plotting in here?”

Mick stiffened slightly, barely noticeable, but Len caught it. He flashed a quick warning look, warning his partner to keep his cool, and then smiled at Barry.

“We were just talking about the Streak.”

Barry promptly tripped over his own feet. “The wha -? The, uh - the Streak? What about him?”

“We were just saying it’s a good job he’s on our side,” Len continued. “Can you imagine the damage a guy like that could do if he decided to be a bad guy? He could level the whole city in a single night.”

Hurrying over to the sink, Barry grabbed a glass from the counter, poured himself a drink of water and downed it all in one go, water trickling down his chin. He resurfaced once it was all gone, slightly out of breath and unwilling to meet anyone’s eye. “Uh, yeah, I guess he could.” He held up a garment bag, beaming, and changed the subject.. "Anyway, on a side note, I picked my other suit up from the dry cleaner's this afternoon, so I'm all set for tonight."  
  
"Tonight?" Mick demanded. "What happens tonight?"   
  
"Lenny's taking me to that fancy new Italian restaurant in town," Barry said, beaming. He paused. "Well, I guess it's not new anymore, it opened six months ago, but I haven't had a chance to go yet, so - "   
  
Mick immediately started glowering across the table. Len raised an eyebrow at him, but Mick didn't explain himself. He just glared harder.  
  
Barry was still chattering about the restaurant as he hung his suit on the back of the door. Smoothly, Len cut him off.  
  
"Barry, could you excuse us for a moment? We'll be right back."   
  
"Oh, sure," said Barry. "Okay."   
  
Closing the lid of his laptop, Len motioned for Mick to take the lead. They headed into the living room, but Len kept walking, herding Mick out into the corridor. If Barry had his wits about him, he'd have his ear up against the kitchen door, listening. This was doubtful - the kid was nowhere near suspicious enough - but Len didn't like to take chances.   
  
He stepped outside of the apartment, leaving the door on the catch, and then folded his arms.   
  
"Problem?"   
  
"I knew you were crazy," Mick growled, "but I never knew you were _this_ crazy."   
  
"What are you babbling about?" Len said coldly.   
  
"You're taking that little punk out for date night. Tonight."   
  
"And?"   
  
Mick scowled at him. "It seems to have slipped your mind that you and I had a previous engagement."   
  
Len stared coolly at him for a second, trying to figure out what the fuck he was on about. Then, it hit him like a freight train. He closed his eyes and grimaced.   
  
"Shit."   
  
"Now he remembers!" Mick said, folding his arm. "You're a genius, Snart. You gonna talk me through exactly how you plan to have Italian with your boyfriend while you and I are running a job on the other side of town at the same time?" 

"Shut it," Len said. "I'm thinking."  
  
He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about the heist. It was all that stupid Streak crap that had gotten him off track, screwed with his head. He and Mick had been planning this one for a good few months, since before Barry even woke up.   
  
A drug shipment was coming through Central City, all the way from Starling City. Some idiot was running off his mouth, claiming to have a massive supply of Vertigo, the shit that half of Starling City had gone crazy for a couple of years back. Len wouldn't touch drugs with a rusty barge-pole, but he had absolutely no objection to selling them on to idiots who would... for a ridiculously inflated price. Whether or not there was actually any Vertigo on the way was debatable, but either way, a heavily armoured and defended truck was scheduled to pass through the city that night and Len and Mick had intended to be on its tail and inside within the hour. He already had contacts ready and waiting to take the crap off their hands; all they had to do was get rid of the guards and driver and then drive the truck a few blocks away to meet up with a supplier. Wholesale Vertigo straight off the back of the van. Couldn't be simpler.   
  
Unfortunately, like an idiot, he'd forgotten all about it.   
  
"Nothin' to think about," Mick said. "You've gotta cancel your date with jailbait."  
  
"Not happening. I was the one who set it up. Barry's been looking forward to it all day; it'll look suspicious if I bail out."   
  
"So you're gonna bail on me," Mick said, looking rapidly more and more pissed, "and the money. Pretty sure I told you to decide - in or out. Sounds to me like you're out."   
  
"Sounds to me like you're putting words in my mouth, _partner_. I'm not bailing out. On you, or Barry."

“So what? You’re gonna be in two places at once?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Len said. “I’ll take Barry to the restaurant like we planned, get dinner in motion, and then I’ll just...take a step outside.”

“For how long? An hour? Two?”

“This job won’t take an hour,” Len scoffed. “Not unless we screw up, and badly.”

“And you expect him to just sit there while you take the world’s longest bathroom break?”

“Leave the excuses to me,” Len said. “You know your job. I’ll text you a time and place. Pick me up in the car park, we’ll get the job done and be back in time for dessert with Barry none the wiser.”

“He must be pretty dumb if he doesn’t start asking questions after that.”

“Watch your mouth,” Len snarled. “I’ve told you before that Barry’s not an issue. I’ll handle him. You just make sure you’re waiting in the parking lot when I tell you to, and I’ll deal with the rest.”

“Fine,” growled Mick. “But for the record, I think you’re crazy.”

“Never stopped you following my orders before.” Len folded his arms. “Now let’s get back inside. Even Barry’s gonna get concerned if we’re standing around having conversations on the other side of a locked door.”

When they got back inside, Barry was clearing away the kitchen, humming away to himself. This was odd behaviour; they bickered constantly over whose turn it was to do the washing up. The kid couldn’t seem to stand still; he was up and down the kitchen like a jackrabbit, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Peachy,” said Len. “You’re acting kinda jumpy. Everything okay?”

“It’s been a weird day,” Barry said. “I’m really looking forward to tonight. It’s going to be wonderful. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

Len shrugged. “I like to spoil you. Besides, I can’t wait to see you in that suit.” He smirked. “Though I gotta admit, I’m even more excited to take it off afterwards…”

“Ugh,” Mick complained. “You two lovebirds make me sick. Get a room.”

“We’ve got a whole apartment,” Len pointed out. “Not our fault that you’re in it.”

On the other side of the room, Barry blushed adorably. Len watched him with a small smile on his face. Complicated as the heist was gonna be what with the added difficulty of pulling it off in the middle of a date, he was confident he’d made the right decision. Nothing would be worth disappointing Barry when he looked so excited.

“I’m leaving anyway,” Mick said. “Before I drown in the cute. Better cut the mushy crap next time I come over, Snart.”

“Get the hell out, before I borrow a gun off Barry’s stepdad and shoot you with it.”

“I’ll see myself out,” Mick said sarcastically, and did.

Usually Barry would have insisted on seeing him out - it was the kind of sappy, overly polite thing he liked to do - but this time, he continued absentmindedly wandering around the kitchen, messing with things. Opening and shutting drawers, wiping a glass he’d already cleaned twice. The kid really did have ants in his pants today. Len was sure he hadn’t been this keyed up when he left this morning. Amusedly, he continued to watch.

“Good day?” Barry asked, rummaging in the cupboards.

As he did so, Len admired his ass. “Uneventful. Yours?”

“Well, I got called into work to visit the crime scene of the mass-murder of one of Central City’s most notorious crime families, and there’s also been a bunch of stuff going on with Caitlin. She’s been struggling lately; Ronnie’s death is still weighing really hard on her. Oh, and Singh had my ass for a report that I turned in late and with mustard on it. Your fault, by the way.”

“I’ll take the blame for the mustard, but the tardiness is on you. Though I’m surprised your Captain isn’t used to it by now.”

“Oh, he’s used to it. Doesn’t change the fact that it still makes him mad as hell. And he wasn’t too keen on me showing up at work with Caitlin in tow, either, even though it was for professional reasons…” Barry sighed. “It’s just been the most ridiculous day. I don’t know when I was last this exhausted.”

“If you’re really that wiped out, we can always take a rain check on dinner.”

“What? No way. I’ve been looking forward to this all day, you can’t snatch it out from underneath my nose like that. I’ve got a huge craving for spaghetti bolognese, and I’m gonna order the biggest bowl they have and then we’re gonna reenact that cute scene in _Lady and the Tramp_ where they suck all the spaghetti up and meet in the middle.”

“You calling me a tramp, Barry? You might wanna reconsider, if you’re still expecting me to pay for dinner.”

“I’m not saying you’re a tramp… but I’m definitely the lady. Make sure you’ve got a full wallet - I’m gonna order two of _everything._ ” Right on cue, Barry’s stomach growled. He grinned. “Clearly my stomach approves. I’m gonna take a shower before we go out. Unless…” He lowered his voice suggestively. “You wanna join me?”

Len perked up immediately at that. Now _there_ was an idea he could get behind. “Ooh, I definitely do. Just give me a minute to shut all this down; I’ll be right with you.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

Stretching - he definitely did it on purpose, letting his sweater ride up to show a sliver of skin at his waist - Barry turned around, ran a hand artfully through his hair to muss it up at the back, and then pulled the sweater over his head in one fluid motion and dropped it on the floor. He padded off to the bathroom, slow and sensual as a cat, leaving Len to stare appreciatively after him. Oh, yes. A shower sounded pretty damn good right now.

The laptop still lay on the table; all Barry would have to do would be to open it up, and he’d see all of the Streak stuff laid out in front of him. Len couldn’t really explain it, but he didn’t want Barry to find out about his new interest in the Central City superhero. It would bring up too many awkward questions.

He started closing down all the tabs, quickly bookmarking the more informative articles (most of them were pure speculation, so it was a narrow list.) Just as he was about to exit the final one, however, something caught his eye. It was an unofficial article, a post on some tiny little personal blog. The photo used was a generic one found through google, and not high quality either. By the looks of it, the operation was home-spun; no pretty pay-check coming as the reward for this writer. There were an impressive amount of hits on the page, considering that the article was only a couple of days old. But none of that was what had caught his eye. His attention had been grabbed by the name of the author.

_Miss Iris West._

Now _that_ was interesting. Len knew Iris had aspirations to be a journalist; one couldn’t spend a day with Barry without knowing this fact, since he was so proud of her and constantly spewed fun facts about her attempts to fulfill this dream. Funnily enough, he’d never mentioned that she was writing articles about the Streak. Maybe he didn’t know about it. Barry’s family did his best to avoid mentions of anything abnormal, possibly thinking it would trigger the weird obsession he’d developed with the paranormal after his mother’s murder. They were all so ordinary that it made one a little sick. And yet here was goody two shoes Iris, writing about the Scarlet Speedster.

Len bookmarked the page, resolving to come back to it later. From what he’d read as he skimmed through, Iris knew her stuff. More than a lot of the rabid journalists writing about the Streak seemed to, anyway. It would definitely be worth paying her a visit - picking her brains, as it were. She might, with a little digging, be able to lead him right to the guy he most wanted to know about. Or at least give him a starting point for his own investigations.

“Are you coming?” Barry yelled from the bathroom. “This shower’s getting pretty lonely over here!”

He closed down the browser and shut the laptop down, closing it with a snap. Come tomorrow, he’d definitely be paying Iris a little visit. But for now…

He shucked his shirt and abandoned it on the kitchen table. Barry and the shower were both waiting for him.

~*~

 

After the day he’d had, doing something as normal as going out for dinner felt surreal. Barry held Leonard’s hand tightly as they walked to the restaurant, trying to keep calm. After his run-in with Kyle Nimbus earlier, a meta who could transform into a cloud of noxious green gas, he was a little on edge. He couldn’t help worrying that a trickle of smoke might start curling up in his peripheral vision.

Earlier, when he’d breathed Nimbus in, it had been one of the most unpleasant sensations of his life. Having Caitlin ram a massive needle into his chest hadn’t helped, either. The needle had been the size of a bicycle pump and hurt like hell, and his chest was still a little tender even several hours later. Luckily Len hadn’t noticed the redness when they were in the shower; Barry had only realised what a terrible idea it was for Len to see him naked so shortly after a fight when they were both already undressed and in the bathroom. By that point it had been a little late to go back on his offer.

As if all the nonsense going on with Nimbus wasn’t ridiculous enough - and a dead convict rising from the grave he’d never quite gotten to, turning into a cloud of gas and attacking people was pretty damn ridiculous - Cisco and Caitlin were clearly struggling with the new plan to turn the particle accelerator into a prison. It had occurred to Barry that the pipeline was essentially Ronnie Raymond’s grave, and while he hadn’t known Ronnie well enough to be strongly affected by his death, Cisco and Caitlin were still reeling from the loss. He’d managed to get Caitlin to open up a little about Ronnie before they got the test results back from the lung samples, and what he’d heard had made Barry’s chest ache. Caitlin talked about Ronnie the way Barry talked about Len. She was still in love with him. Anything Barry could say would be redundant.

“Earth to Barry,” Len said, gently elbowing him in the side.

“Huh?” Barry said, startled. “What’s going on? What?”

“You’re really not with it today, are you? Are you sure you want to do dinner today?”

“Of course I do,” Barry said. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you just walked straight past the restaurant,” Len said.

Barry stopped and rubbed his eyes. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to call me that when we’re in public. ‘Leonard’ is fine.”

“Oh, shut up,” Barry said, and he grabbed Len’s hand and pulled him back towards the restaurant.

Once they were inside, seated, and Barry’s wandering brain couldn’t get him into any more trouble, he gazed wistfully at the wine menu. He’d always thought the stuff tasted fucking awful, but it would’ve been nice to have a few drinks and let loose after the day he’d had. Still, considering Nimbus had threatened him, it was probably better for him to remain alert. Sighing, he laid down the menu.

“What are we thinking? Pinot Grigio, or are we gonna splash out and get the Chardonnay?” Len asked lazily.

“I think I’m just gonna get a tap water.”

Len arched an eyebrow at him over the menu.

"Last time I drank didn’t go so well,” Barry reminded him.

“Hm. Fair point. We can skip the wine. I’d hate to end this evening with you puking in the street… again.” Len folded the menu back up. “Speaking of that auspicious occasion, did you apologise to Iris for bitching about her brother?”

“There was some grovelling. Seemed to go down pretty well. My apology to Joe was really weird, though. Wally was hanging around the entire time and when I was done he started slamming doors and storming out like I’d done something awful. Maybe he was being petty. He knows I don’t like him, and I don’t think I’m his favourite person either. Maybe he was hoping Joe wouldn’t accept my apology.”

“That doesn’t sound like Wally.” Len twisted his pinky ring around several ti

es. “What exactly did you say?”

“Uh,” said Barry. “Well considering that yesterday I yelled at him that he wasn’t my real dad and I no longer needed him, I kind of made a point of saying that I was wrong. And I made a huge list of all the things he did for me which kind of prove he’s been my father all along.”

“Such as?”

“You know. Teaching me to drive, giving me the sex talk, going to all my parent/teacher nights… tucking me in at night. Standard dad stuff.”

“All the standard dad stuff he never got to do for Wally,” Len pointed out.

Barry was suddenly overcome with an intense urge to start bashing his head against the table.

“While I don’t doubt that you were just being your usual tactless self, and didn’t actually mean to rub Wally’s face in the fact that Joe was never there for him when he was growing up,” said Len, “perhaps you can see why that might have offended him.”

“I’m an idiot,” Barry said with great dismay.

“This is hardly a recent revelation.”

“I’m a _massive dick_.”

“You may be getting confused between possessing a thing and actually _being_ the thing.”

“Wally must think I’m a complete asshole!”

“Yep,” said Len.

Just then, a rather attractive waiter came over to take their orders. Barry busy staring dazedly into space, wondering how the hell he could have been such a dick without even realising it - could it have been some kind of subconscious dickery? - so Len ordered for him, and it was only once the waiter had vanished and Len had given him a very hard kick that Barry remembered he was supposed to be on a date, not having a minor existential crisis.

“What do I do?” Barry asked pleadingly.

“Right now? Nothing. You enjoy this very nice date we’re having in this very nice restaurant. You relax. Get your head on straight. And then in a couple of days’ time, you march round to see Wally and explain to him that you weren’t intentionally being an asshole, you just aren’t very bright.”

“Thanks,” Barry said weakly. “Love you, too.”

“Just telling it like it is, Scarlet. You know how I hate to sugar-coat things.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Still, Barry thought, at least he could rely on Len to be honest with him.

Len, meanwhile, surreptitiously checked his watch. Time was ticking away; within a few minutes, Mick would be pulling up outside to pick him up for the heist. He would have liked to spend a little more time with Barry first, but it was probably better if he could be out before the food showed up. Distracted as he was, Barry wasn’t going to ask too many questions, but Len still had a good lie lined up.

“Listen, I know this is terrible timing, but I’m going to have to step out for a couple of minutes,” he said. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

Barry frowned. “Why? You gotta use the little boys room?”

“First off,” Len said, “never refer to the restroom in that way again. But no. It’s going to take a little longer than that.”

“Can’t it wait? The food’s going to get here soon.”

“Not really. I won’t take too long, I promise. I’ll be there and back in a flash.”

Barry’s eyes widened. “I - there and - what and a where? The who now?” His knuckles whitened as he gripped his glass of water.

Apparently the prospect of Len bowing out in the middle of a date was short-circuiting Barry’s brain. Time to employ his cover story.  
  
“I got you something.”  
  
Barry looked confused. "Huh?"  
  
"A gift. It was _supposed_ to be a surprise, but if you're going to be an awkward little bastard..."  
  
"A gift? What for?"  
  
"I don't need a reason to give presents to my boyfriend, do I? I was going to give it to you after dinner, but I must have left it at the apartment."  
Barry's whole expression softened. "Aw, Len. You know you didn't have to get me anything."  
  
Len shrugged and picked up his wine glass. "I know. I like to spoil you."  
  
"You're so cute."  
  
"I had heard the rumour," Len said dryly. "But don't let it spread too far; I have a reputation to uphold." He pushed his chair back from the table. "I'll go home and get it. It won't take long."  
  
Barry reached for his hand. "You can give it to me when we get home, you don't need to go all the way back for it."  
  
Len glowered. "I've been planning this for over a week, Barry, and I'm not about to let all those plans go to waste. Sit tight and let me get your damn present. I won't be long."  
  
He got up and started heading for the door.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Len turned back to him. "What?" he said irritably.  
  
"We already ordered! The starter's gonna be here before you get back!"  
  
Len rolled his eyes. "You can have mine. We both know you can put it away."  
  
Barry grinned sheepishly. "I guess..."  
  
"I'll be as quick as I can," Len promised, and he leaned in for a long, lingering kiss. When they parted, Barry was giving him that look, the bright-eyed, adoring one like Len had hung the moon. The one that always made him feel a little bit guilty.  
  
"Hurry back," Barry said.  
  
Len gave him a tight smile, and headed for the exit. He made sure to keep his stride fairly leisurely until he reached the door, at which point he sped up and entered the parking lot.  
  
Mick was waiting in tonight's idling getaway van, an unmemorable dingy white thing that looked identical to most of the other vans they'd ever used, but with a brand new license plate. Len opened the door and slid in, and a smirk slid across Mick's face.  
  
"Nice outfit."  
  
"Shut it," Len snapped. "You better have my gear in the back of this thing.'  
  
"Relax, Snart, you don't have to do the raid in your pretty suit. I got you covered."  
  
Len snorted irritably and twisted in his seat to root around in the back of the van.  
  
"Seatbelt,” ordered Mick as he pulled out onto the main road.

Bite me," he snapped, snagging his duffle from between the seats. It was bulky, his parka shoved inside it. The reassuring weight of the gun he’d hidden in there soothed his nerves slightly.

"Save it for your boyfriend."  
  
"Speaking of," said Len, "we need to stop at a florist's on our way back."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I had to tell Barry _something._ Told I got him a present and I was going home to get it."  
  
Mick snorted and hit the indicator like it had personally offended him. "Why you decided it was a good idea to go through with this heist on date night I don't know."  
  
"Gives me an alibi," Len said. "For most of the night, anyway. And besides, I like to live dangerously."  
  
Mick snorted. "You're full of shit, Snart. What's the real reason?"  
  
Len just smirked and started unfastening his shirt. True, he could have bailed on Barry. He could even have bailed on the heist; Vertigo was risky stuff to traffic in at the best of times, he he could have stood to let it go without a fight. But a part of him _wanted_ to do this, just to prove that he could. He could let his home life and his work come dangerously close without having them intersect, prove beyond all shadow of a doubt that he could have the best of both worlds. And there were slightly more... _primitive_ reasons for his decision. Not that he would care to admit it, but the rush of a successful heist tended to turn him on. The thought of going back to sit in a fancy restaurant with Barry, on edge and still buzzing with adrenaline, trying to hide it...well. Maybe he had some weird turn-ons, but he didn't think Barry would have an issue with being pounded into the mattress once their date was over. Maybe a little messing around in the restaurant if he played his cards right. He leaned back in his seat, smirking.  
  
Oh, it was going to be a good night.  
  
"On second thoughts," he said, "forget the florist’s. We're stopping off at the jewellery store on the way back."  
  
"Ooh, I _love_ the jewellery store," Mick growled. "Dibs on the biggest gold necklace I can get my hands on. I need something trashy for Lisa's birthday."  
  
Len would be damned if Mick got Lisa a trashier, glitzier present than him, but he had other priorities tonight. "If you're gonna pay for it, sure. We're not stealing any jewels tonight."  
  
"Buy it?" Mick said disgustedly. "Why?"

Len shrugged. He wasn't sure Barry would be too happy about the idea of wearing stolen goods.  


"Fine," Mick said grumpily. He glanced at Len out of the corner of his eye. "At least the cash is stolen. Right?"  
  
"Obviously," said Len.  
  
Satisfied, Mick grunted and gunned the engine, running a red light. They needed to be fast if they were going to make it to the restaurant before Barry got suspicious.

 

~*~

 

Barry stared dreamily at the door Len had vanished through. Pity Len would murder him if Barry ever told anyone how much of a romantic he was. Also a pity that most of Barry's friends were terrified of Len and would either laugh or puke if he did decide to share.  
  
While he was waiting, he decided to text Iris. She replied almost immediately, to his relief.   
  
THOUGHT IT WAS DATE NIGHT. WHY ARE YOU TEXTING DURING A DATE, IS IT THAT BAD?!?!?!?! 

LEN STEPPED OUT FOR A MINUTE. HE GOT ME A GIFT. LEFT IT AT THE APARTMENT.

YOU SURE HE'S NOT JUST DONE A DINE AND DITCH?

Barry snorted. HE WOULDN'T.

BARRY. I KNOW IT'S BEEN NINE MONTHS BUT HE HASN'T CHANGED THAT MUCH.

IF WE WERE GONNA DINE AND DITCH WE'D HAVE TO EAT SOMETHING FIRST. FOOD HASN'T ARRIVED YET.  
  
Barry's stomach gurgled grumpily. He sighed. Damn metabolism.   
  
AND HE HASN'T STOOD YOU UP? 

COME ON, IRIS.

She sent him a series of shrugging emojis. Barry sighed. Every time he thought he was making progress on integrating Len into the rest of his life, someone else he loved would make a disparaging comment or point out a flaw and make him feel like he'd shot straight back to square one. Even Iris, who was probably the one Len got along with best, couldn't seem to help herself.

FOOD'S HERE, GTG, he texted, and then gave a sigh of relief at having avoided a fight. He'd argue about Len's many good qualities til the cows came home, but he was fighting a losing battle, even with Iris. No matter what he did to try and convince everyone that Len wasn't an asshole, they refused to believe him - and it didn't help that Len seemed to derive some strange pleasure out of proving them right.  
  
Still, as glad as he was to have extricated himself from the conversation with Iris, he now had no one to talk to and no food to keep him busy. He checked all of his social media extensively, actually reading it at normal speed, played six different games on his phone and then checked all of his social media again. All the while, his stomach gurgled unpleasantly.   
  
The waiter came back to check on him and apologise for the delay with the food. Barry smiled and reassured him, trying valiantly not to look like he'd been stood up. Or rather, walked out on. He ordered a refill for Len, hoping that made it clear he was coming back, and then wondered why he was so determined to prove that he hadn't been ditched. Maybe because it felt like he had. 

He had begun checking his watch almost obsessively at this point. It had taken them about half an hour of slow going to get from their apartment to the restaurant; it would take Len at least twenty minutes each way, even if he walked fast. Barry had been kind of hoping he'd get a taxi, but he thought that was pretty unlikely. He sighed.   
  
After a few more bored, fidgety minutes, the two starters turned up. Barry wolfed his down, and Len's followed almost immediately. Once he'd eaten, he felt a whole lot better, but he was starting to get edgy. Soon the main would be here, and he was starting to get worried that Len would miss their entire date. 

The waiter came to take the plates away, eyed Len's wine glass and gave Barry a sympathetic smile. He left a napkin behind on the table, which Barry realised he'd written his phone number on. Now he was getting _pity_ numbers. The guy was cute, but that wasn't the point. Barry hastily hid the napkin under the table before Len came back and started being an asshole to the waitstaff. The food was good; he'd quite like to come back here. Preferably with Len in tow rather than back at the apartment. 

It was almost a relief when he got a call from Cisco. "Hey, man, what's happening?"  
  
“I’m at S.T.A.R Labs,” hissed Cisco. "There's someone in the building.”   
  
Barry's heart started to race unpleasantly. "What? Who?"   
  
"I don't know, but seriously, I'm freaking out. I can't get hold of Caitlin, I know she's in here somewhere."   
  
"Doctor Wells?"   
  
"I - I don't know, Barry, look, you need to get right down here man, there's someone in the building, I think they're trying to steal something."

“Like what?”

“Man, are you serious? I just told you there are freaking intruders in the building and you’re sitting there asking me what they wanna take? You’re the freaking Flash, get down here and bust them!”

“I - ” Barry hesitated. He looked around, making sure no-one was eavesdropping. “Cisco, I’m kind of on a date.”

“Ditch him. We need you back here, Barry.”

“I can’t ditch him!” Barry hissed. If Len got back and found Barry was missing, what the hell would he think? How much of an asshole would he have to be to do something like that? Besides which, they couldn’t both vanish midway through the meal, or it really _would_ look like a dine and ditch. “We haven’t had dessert.”

“What part of ‘there’s someone in the building’ don’t you understand, Barry? CCTV’s down. Someone took out the cameras, and half the electricity supply to the lab. All the computers are down, the back-up generator hasn’t been right since the particle accelerator explosion and I’m sitting here in the dark and for all I know some criminal could be creeping up on me right now!”

The edge of panic in Cisco’s voice was unmistakable. He wasn’t bluffing; he was genuinely afraid. Barry swore, got up from the table and streaked out through the front door, praying that the hot waiter would think he’d just gone for a bathroom break.

He was at S.T.A.R Labs in record time; it had occurred to him on the way that Nimbus might have tracked him somehow and followed him back to the lab, and his friends could shake off the effects of his toxins the way Barry could. Spurred on by this horrible thought, he burst into the cortex, frightening Cisco out of his wits. Yelling, his friend ran at him, brandishing a fire extinguisher like some kind of deadly weapon. Barry dodged out of the way.

“Cisco, it’s me!”

“Barry!” yelled Cisco. Then, he suddenly remembered about the intruders and lowered his voice. “Suit up, they could still be here and I don’t want them to see your face - ”

“You’re sure there was someone in here?”

“I’m positive, man, the CCTV shorted out and then the rest of the power went straight after it, and I swear to god someone sneaked right past me - I can’t find Caitlin or Doctor Wells - ”

“Cisco.”

Cisco leapt half a foot into the air, but it was only Doctor Wells, gliding in noiselessly in his wheelchair. Gasping with relief, Cisco seized Barry.

“It appears we’ve had some kind of power cut.”

“It was the intruder,” insisted Cisco. “There is someone in the building, Doctor Wells, I’m sure of it.”

“Guys?”

Caitlin came clicking into the room in her heels, looking concerned.

“The lights all went out and I heard screaming. Is everything okay?”

“Cisco thinks we might have an intruder in the building. Can the two of you go down to the generator and see if we can do something about getting the power back on?”

“Sure thing, Doctor Wells,” Cisco said, but he didn’t move.

“I’ll come with you,” Barry said. “Just give me a second to put on the suit. I don’t want some criminal getting a look at me if we bump into anybody.”

Suit on, he escorted Cisco and Caitlin down to the generator, where they stood hunched over and conversed in whispers while Cisco tinkered with the connections.

“What are you doing here anyway, Barry?” asked Caitlin. “I thought you were on a date.”

“I was, but Len stepped out to grab something from the apartment. Just gotta cross my fingers that I get back before he does. How are you guys doing with fixing that?”

“Working on it,” Cisco said. “Caitlin, can you shine that torch a little closer?”

Barry chewed on his fingernails. He was practically ready to start eating his actual _fingers_ by the time the generator came to life with a gentle whirr and the lights fired back up, making them all squint as light flooded the room.

“And we have power!” Cisco said, triumphantly holding up a screwdriver. “Who’s the man?”

“There’s no way our intruder is still here by now. They’d be long gone by the time we managed to fix everything,” Caitlin said. “And without the security footage, we have no way of telling where they went or what they took.”

“Surveillance footage has been whack for months anyway,” Cisco said, thoughtfully tapping the screwdriver against his thigh. “We keep getting weird gaps in the footage, or overlays. Footage from weeks before gets spat back and played over the new stuff. Ever since the particle accelerator exploded, the system’s been on the blink. Too bad we can’t afford to fix it. Too bad we can’t afford to fix _anything._ ” He shook his head. “Why would a thief even come in here? There’s nothing left at S.T.A.R Labs worth stealing. Except my hopes and dreams, and those are long gone anyway - ”

“I'm going to take a look around and see if anything is missing," said Barry. "Give me a second; I’ll meet you guys back at the cortex."  
  
He dashed off and did a quick circuit of the lab. The intruder had been surprisingly neat about their forced entry; he found a door that had been jimmied open on one side of the building, and then carefully pulled into a closed position again. There were no signs to indicate where they had gone; he whipped back into the main lab, took a swab around the lock to see if there would be any DNA or fibres to analyse - he doubted it - and then carried on his rounds.   
  
He almost missed it when he finally did find signs of the break-in; a few papers that had been rifled through and put back in a hurry. Barry flipped through them at superspeed and found nothing of interest, which was presumably why they'd been discarded. He followed his nose, and found a few doors ajar; none of the contents of any of the rooms seemed to have been disturbed, until he came to a barely utilised storage closet and found inside a small cabinet that was hanging wide open. Empty. Barry knelt and examined the dust patterns, which were very faint but still just visible. A short time ago, someone had put something - two somethings - in this cabinet, and then left it undisturbed until their mysterious guest had broken in and helped themselves.  
  
Barry frowned. The dust shapes were vague, and distorted where the items had been removed in a hurry, so he couldn't tell what had been hanging there. He'd certainly never been in this room. He zipped back to the cortex to tell them what he'd found, and when he was done they all looked confused - aside from Cisco, who was ashen.   
  
"You're sure?" he demanded. "The cabinet, it was empty. That's all they took?"   
  
"Nobody used that cabinet," said Caitlin. "What could they possibly have taken?"   
  
Wells, meanwhile, was looking very hard at Cisco. Fidgeting, Cisco avoided his gaze.   
  
"What did you do?" Wells asked.   
  
"I - "   
  
"Cisco. What did you do?"   
  
Cisco rounded imploringly on Barry, wringing his hands. "You have to believe me, man; I was never gonna use it. It was a contingency - not even a contingency. It was just a... I just wanted to know that we weren't helpless, if anything went wrong."   
  
"What are you talking about?" Barry asked, bewildered.   
  
Cisco took a deep breath. "I built a gun."   
  
"A gun?"   
  
"Two guns, actually. But one of them is actually more like a flamethrower, you don't need to worry about that. It's....the first one. I built it for you." 

"I couldn't shoot anybody, Cisco, you know I couldn’t."  
  
"No, not for you, for _you_ ," Cisco said. "To use on you. If you ever turned on us." He started pacing up and down. "Heat and cold are opposites. You want to slow something down, you cool it down. Freeze the molecules. It's a cold gun, that's what it does. I made a gun so we could stop you if you ever went over to the dark side."   
  
"How could you be so irresponsible?" demanded Wells. "How many of this city's supervillains would kill to get their hands on a weapon like that? There are dangerous people around, Cisco, and Barry is our only hope of stopping them!"   
  
"You were going to _shoot_ me?" Barry asked, staring at Cisco. He couldn't believe it. Cisco was his friend; they'd spent hours watching movies and playing XBox and chatting about God knows what. Cisco had made him the suit. And then he made a gun to shoot him with?   
  
"No!" Cisco protested. "Barry, you have to understand - we've seen so many crazy metas, so many people turned evil by their powers. On the off-chance that it ever happened to you, I wanted to be sure we could stop you from hurting anybody.”

It was reasonable. Painfully reasonable. If it hadn't hurt so much that Cisco thought he might be capable of doing something like that, Barry might have understood. As it was, all he could picture was Cisco pointing a gun at him and shooting him.   
  
"I'm sorry," said Cisco.  
  
"I have to get back," Barry said. "I'm missing my date."  
  
"Barry - "  
  
He ran out of the lab, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. His friend didn't trust him. It made him feel a little sick just thinking about it.  
  
He did a quick-change in the bathroom of the restaurant, shoving the Flash suit down into the trash can wrapped in a plastic bag. The suit that Cisco had made for him. Cramming it down to the bottom, Barry made sure it was well-hidden and then left it there, hurrying back to their table.  
  
He slid back into his seat just as Len came through the double doors at the front of the restaurant. Arching an eyebrow, Len approached.  
  
"For a moment I thought you'd done a dine and ditch," he said. "I looked through the window and our table was empty."  
  
Barry smiled weakly. "Bathroom," he said. Suddenly, he was aching to be around someone who didn't think he was going to go crazy and start hurting people. Len knew he wasn't capable of that, at least. Gratefully, he slipped his hand into Len's.  
  
The waiter reappeared, eyed them both suspiciously and then vanished back into the kitchen. Barry's stomach growled. A few moments later, the man came out of the kitchen carrying two plates of tiramisu.  
  
"At least I didn't miss dessert," Len said, and he thanked the water and immediately dug his fork into it.  
  
In spite of his hunger, Barry paused for a moment before he began to eat. Len looked different somehow. Radiant. There was a light in his eyes, a slight flush to his cheeks. Clearly his night-time stroll had done him good. Fervently, he popped some tiramisu into his mouth and sighed.  
  
"You look beautiful," Barry said.  
  
Len smiled. "You're very sweet. What happened?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I can tell something happened. Is it because I took so long? I'm really sorry, I got held up at the apartment."  
  
Barry shook his head. "It's not that. I had a fight with Cisco."  
  
"Why? Did you tell him Star Trek is better than Star Wars again?"  
  
Barry tried and failed to smile. "No. It was more of a case of...I realised he doesn't think very much of me. He thinks I'm a bad person."  
  
"He's an idiot," Len said dismissively. "You're the kind of person who feels bad if he steps on a bug on the sidewalk. Are you sure he wasn’t talking about me?"  
  
That _did_ make Barry smile slightly. "Yeah. I'm sure."  
  
Len reached across the table to hold his hand. With the other hand, he continued to scoop up forkfuls of dessert. This made Barry smile a little more.

"Don't worry about it. He'll come around. What you should be worrying about is eating this delicious tiramisu before I decide to have some of yours."

Admittedly, he _was_ kind of hungry. All that rushing around at the lab had given him even more of an appetite. Shrugging, Barry pulled the plateful of tiramisu towards him and took a bite. His eyes widened.  
  
"Damn. That's some good dessert."   
  
"Maybe I'll sneak into the kitchens and steal the recipe. My baking could use a little work."   
  
"Oh, God, yes," Barry said, suddenly visualising mountains of tiramisu piling up in their kitchen as Len laboured for perfection. He tended to make the same thing over and over until he'd got it just right. If dessert was involved, that could only be a bonus.   
  
They were silent then for a while as they devoured the food. Even so, Barry couldn't help but feel like there was something else going on. Len was still flushed, which was unusual considering that he preferred to keep things on the cool side. In spite of his display of single-minded focus on dessert, he seemed a little distracted.

It wasn't until Barry noticed how often Len was shifting around in his seat that he caught on. Smirking, he set down his fork and leaned back in his seat, waiting.  
  
When he was done scraping the last of the crumbs off his plate, Len finally looked up and spotted Barry's face. "What?"  
  
He had a tiny bit of cream on the corner of his mouth. Barry reached across, lightly swiped it away with his thumb and then popped it into his mouth, tongue laving demonstratively over the pad of his thumb.  
  
"Sweet," he said.   
  
"You've perked up."  
  
Barry shrugged, still grinning.  
  
"Behave yourself," Len said sternly. "I still need to give you your present."

In all of the ruckus at S.T.A.R Labs, Barry had forgotten about the present. He lit up like a Christmas tree.

Smirking, Len delved into his pocket and brought out a little black jewellery box. Barry's heart leapt. Len popped the box open to reveal a silvery charm hanging on a chain; a thundercloud with a little silver lightning bolt hanging from it, nestled on a velvety white cushion. Awestruck, Barry reached out and rubbed his fingers against the material. He didn't quite dare touch the charm; it was so beautiful, so delicate. 

"I wanted just the lightning bolt on its own, but they didn't have it."  
  
"It's beautiful," Barry said softly. "I love it, thank you."   
  
"Here's to a new time in our lives," Len said, and they chinked their wine glasses together.   
  
"I thought you hated anything that reminded you of that night."   
  
"That lightning almost ruined my life...but it didn't. I got you back in the end. I figure that's something worth celebrating. Now are you going to turn around so I can put it on?"  
  
Beaming, Barry twisted in his seat. He felt the coolness of the chain against his neck, Len's fingers brushing against his skin and making him shiver. When he looked down, the charm was nestled a few inches below the hollow of his throat. The metal was cold against his skin, like Len's fingers. He smiled at the thought and turned back around so that Leb could see how happy he was.

"Suits you," said Len in a low voice.

Barry leaned across the table and said in an equally low voice, "I could really do with some more dessert."  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Len said, "Why does that not surprise me?"   
  
"Trouble is," Barry continued, "I think we're all out of clean dishes."   
  
Len waited.   
  
"I might have to eat it off you instead," Barry murmured. "I'm thinking whipped cream. Lots of it, all over." 

Len's lips parted. He swallowed, trying and failing to keep his cool. Again, he fidgeted in his seat, more noticeably this time, which made Barry struggle to hide his grin.

"Make it ice cream and you've got yourself a deal."  
  
"Done," Barry said. "Let's get out of here?"   
  
"I'll settle the bill," Len said, and he got up and made a beeline for the closest waiter.  
  
Barry took advantage of his absence to sprint to the bathroom, yank his suit out of the trash and run back to hide it under Len's old bed in their apartment. He was back at Len's side in an instant, putting a hand on the small of his back. Len jumped slightly. Barry's heart pounded.  
  
"You ready to go?"   
  
"Oh, hell yes," Len growled, and they rushed for the exit.

They rushed out of the restaurant hand in hand, grinning like fools. When Barry tried to tug Len down the road towards their apartment, however, Len resisted. Confused, Barry gave him another gentle pull.

"Leonard?"  
  
"Taxi," said Len.   
  
"Len, it's like a twenty minute walk -"   
  
"Taxi," Len said stubbornly, and steered him down the road a little way, where several taxis were patiently waiting.  
  
Throwing open the door, Len gestured for Barry to climb inside and followed him in. With a slightly rude tap on the glass, he rattled off their address and the taxi sluggishly pulled out of the rank and started heading down the road.  
  
"We could easily have walked," Barry pointed out.   
  
"We could," agreed Len. He leaned in closer and murmured in Barry's ear, "But I'm not a patient man. I don't like to be kept waiting."  
  
His hand was on Barry's knee. Then his thigh. Slyly moving further and further upwards, way past the mark of being socially acceptable, and then -  
  
Len gave him a light squeeze through his slacks and Barry jumped.  
  
Surely he wasn't going to - right here, in the taxi? Barry turned to look incredulously at him. Len winked, then looked away again and started rubbing Barry, squeezing expertly at his cock. Barry hardened fast, his head spinning. He couldn't quite believe Len was touching him like this, all the driver would have to do would be to turn round at the wrong moment and he'd catch them. The right thing to do would be to push Len's hand away, to make him wait until they got home… but it was only a few more blocks. A small traffic jam was building up but even so, it would only take another couple of minutes and it felt so fucking _good_ \-   
  
He spread his legs a little wider, his cock starting to press more insistently against his underwear. Len smirked and continued to press with his talented fingers, feeling how hard Barry was getting. It took a considerable amount of willpower for Barry not to buck his hips up into Len's touch, but he was aching already and wanted more. Closing his eyes, he imagined Len pulling him out, the cool air on his dick, and then he pictured Len leaning down to kiss the head, taking Barry into his mouth right here in the back of the taxi, the head of Barry's cock nudging the back of his throat, the heat of Len's mouth bringing him closer to the edge -  
  
Len popped open the button of Barry's pants and slowly unfastened the fly, the zipper gliding noiselessly downwards.  
  
Barry's mouth fell open. For an awful, crazy moment he thought he might have voiced his fantasy aloud, but then Len slipped a hand into his underwear and wrapped cool fingers around his length.  
  
With a desperate sound, Barry gave a full-body shudder.  
  
Len leaned in close, his lips pressed right up against Barry's ear. "Shh," he said, so softly that Barry barely heard him. "Be good."  
  
Barry gripped the seat with both hands, trying to get his breathing under control.

"Need you to be quiet," Len breathed. "And stay completely still. You can do that, right?"  
  
Barry nodded a little frantically.  
  
"If this is too much, we can stop..."  
  
With a jerky shake of his head, Barry took a deep breath and focused on keeping himself under control. Len gave an approving squeeze and went to looking calmly out of the window.  
  
Over the past few weeks Barry had gotten pretty good at controlling himself. It took a lot of concentration to keep from vibrating in the heat of the moment, especially when he was close, but it had the added benefit of keeping him from coming anywhere near as quickly, since he was focusing so intently on holding himself back. This practice served him well now. He eyed himself in the rear-view mirror. Aside from being kind of flushed and bright-eyed, he looked okay. Normal. Not at all like he was discreetly getting a handjob in the back seat.  
  
The traffic mounted up. Len's hand started to speed up, still moving slowly so as not to draw attention, but nevertheless... Biting down on his lower lip, Barry focused on breathing steadily. Len was still completely collected, gazing out through the window like he hadn't a care in the world. Only the shape of his cock straining against his pants told Barry just how much Len was affected by this. Getting Barry off in the back of a stranger's car while nobody was any the wiser.

The pressure was building. Len swiped his thumb over Barry's slit, spreading pre-come across the head. Swallowing, Barry gripped the upholstery even harder. He could feel his orgasm starting to build. Frantically, he pushed up a little into Len's loose fist.  
  
Len shot him a questioning glance. Barry stared pleadingly back.  
  
Gaze flickering away, Len kept stroking. Barry's eyelids fluttered closed for a moment; he forced them open again. His breathing was getting ragged, his whole body pulsing with need. So close, so close, he was right on the brink, just a few more seconds -  
  
The car came to a stop and Len snatched his hand out of Barry's underwear, tugging Barry's jacket down to cover his unfastened fly.  
  
Barry's whole body screamed in protest. He'd been right on the brink, no more than a handful of seconds away from coming right into Len's hand. All of a sudden he was constrained inside his pants again, desperate and throbbing, his whole body shaking in protest.  
  
"Seven dollars thirty-five," the taxi driver said boredly.   
  
"For that?" Len said. "You only took us ten blocks." He sounded a little breathless himself.   
  
"Seven dollars thirty-five," the driver repeated. 

"Daylight robbery," Len complained, but he paid up, thank God. Barry had been terrified he was going to keep them there while he argued with the taxi driver and while Barry shook all over with the effort of not giving himself those last few strokes to finish himself off.  
  
They lurched out of the taxi. Almost forgetting himself, Barry was about to use his speed to yank them both up to their apartment when he remembered Len didn't know about that and now would be the worst time ever to bring it up. His legs shook.   
  
Len tapped in the entry code with unsteady fingers and then they were in the stairwell, still two flights of stairs between them and their bedroom. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Barry moaned and reached down to palm himself, just for a second, just to take the edge off -   
  
Seizing his wrist, Len yanked it above Barry's head and then slammed him up against the wall. They kissed, hard and messy and desperate, Len's whole body pinning Barry to the wall. He grabbed Barry's other hand and raised it to join the first, holding them both over his head so that all Barry could do was cry out and roll his hips forward in a desperate bid for some kind of friction.

"I'm so close," he whined.  
  
"Thought I could get you there before the car stopped, if we'd had another thirty seconds I'd have managed it -"   
  
"Please," Barry begged.  
  
He'd meant 'please can we go upstairs so you can fuck me' but either Len misinterpreted or he was even more desperate for it than Barry. Lifting him up, Len parked Barry's ass on the banister so his back was against the wall, and he started undoing Barry's pants as well.  
  
As much as Barry wanted to just _let_ him, to give in to the sensation and allow Len to fuck him right here with his ass balanced on the slightly wobbly banister, his head won out.  
  
"Wait, wait -"   
  
"I don't think so," Len said, giving Barry's slacks a tug, trying to get them out of the way.   
  
"Not here - the neighbours -"   
  
"Will all be in bed," Len said, kissing Barry's throat in an unfairly persuasive manner. "And if not, well, they'll get one hell of a show."   
  
"We can't, if somebody sees us - we'll get evicted -"   
  
"Don't care." 

"Len, _please_ \- "

Swearing, Len stepped back. Barry had never seen him look so fucking ruined before they'd even had a chance to really start; he was panting, his eyes bright, cheeks flushed. He was even trembling a little. Len never lost control like this; it made Barry even harder to see him so debauched and needy. Usually that was his job.

"Get your ass up those stairs, Barry Allen," Len growled.

Barry didn't need telling twice. They sprinted up the stairs, Barry almost falling in his urgency, Len always there to catch him. Barry’s fly was still down, his hair in disarray and his neck already showing off the beginnings of a hickey, if anyone came down the stairs now there would be no doubt whatsoever of what they'd just been doing. Barry didn't care.

His hands shook violently as he struggled to unlock the door of their apartment; when Len impatiently snatched the keys away from him, he didn't fare much better. But then the door burst open and they were in. Barry's jacket hit the floor before he'd even made it properly over the threshold, and Len kicked the door closed behind them and kissed Barry hard.

They staggered for the sofa and all but fell onto it, all frantic hands and desperate kisses. Barry almost ripped the buttons off his shirt in his hurry to remove it; Len stripped off with a needy edge to his usual efficiency, and then Barry was on his back and Len was tearing off his shoes without untying the laces, pulling Barry's pants down and discarding them. His underwear followed and then Len was on top of him, cool body pressed up against Barry's overheated one. Too worked up for finesse, Barry rocked up against him, rejoicing in the much-needed friction as the head of his cock rubbed against Len's stomach.

"Shit," Len growled when they stopped kissing for a minute to breathe. "Lube."  
  
"Hold on," Barry said, and stuck his hand down the back of the couch.

He felt around for a minute, forehead furrowed with concentration. Len went back to ravaging his neck, his teeth scraping against Barry's pulse point, making him shudder. Barry's searching fingers produced three quarters, which he tossed to the floor, the tie he'd stuffed down there before the party at Saints and Sinners a week or so before, and then, finally, a small bottle. Triumphantly, he held it aloft.

Len snatched it. "What the -?"  
  
"Left it there the last time we did this," Barry explained breathlessly. "I figured that next time we couldn't make it to the bedroom, we should be prepared."  
  
"My hero," Len said, and kissed him again. Then, he uncapped the lube and drizzled a plentiful amount onto his fingers.

For a couple of minutes they were quiet, Len’s forehead creased with concentration as he worked a finger into Barry, gripping his hip with the other hand to keep him from grinding too hard against Len and ending things prematurely. Oddly, now that he had the freedom to make plenty of noise Barry couldn’t seem to vocalise the urgency running through him. Aside from the odd whimper and a lot of hitched breathing, he was quiet as Len started working him open. He closed his eyes when the second finger slid inside him, providing the slightest hint of the stretch he was craving so badly. With an expert curl of his fingers, Len pushed in deeper and Barry’s whole body exploded with sensation, a sudden rush of it so intense that he momentarily forgot how to breathe. He grabbed Len’s wrist, needed a moment’s respite because it felt so fucking good he couldn’t handle it and he just wanted more and at this rate he was going to lose it completely and blow his big secret with two of Leonard Snart’s fingers in his ass.

“Okay?” Len asked, stopping.  
  
“Need a minute…”  
  
“Alright,” Len said, backing off a little. “Okay, come here, I got you - ” He started to withdraw his hand.  
  
“You can leave them in,” Barry said hurriedly, “just - give me a minute.”

All he could hear was the sound of their breathing and the faraway rush of traffic drifting through the open window. Later, he knew Len would have his ass for leaving it open while they were out, but right now he just hovered over Barry with a smile on his face, drinking him in. Reaching up, Barry cupped his face.

“I love you,” he said quietly.  
  
“And I love you,” Len said, giving him an unusually tender kiss on the forehead. “Ready?”  
  
“Yeah, give it to me,” Barry said, and Len pressed a third finger inside him.

He could feel Len’s cock pressed up against him and was astonished by his willpower. Throughout everything in the taxi, all of this helpless rutting up against each other, and in spite of the fact that Len had been turned on since before they’d even left the restaurant, the fact that he hadn’t touched himself yet was both incredibly impressive and incredibly hot. As badly as Barry wanted to touch him, he couldn’t help thinking how much better it would feel for Len if the first stimulation he got all night would be being inside Barry, going from nothing to that tight heat. Zero to one hundred in ten seconds flat. Barry’s fingers itched to touch him even so. He clenched them into fists and wrapped his arms around Len’s neck to pull him closer.

“You know,” Barry said, “when we were in that taxi, for a second there I thought you were gonna get down and suck me off right there in the back seat.”  
  
“Hm,” Len said thoughtfully, curling his fingers again. Barry gasped. “Thought about it. Probably would’ve, if I thought I could get away with it. But I’m too busy for an indecent exposure charge right this second.” He kissed Barry’s neck, slow and careful, making Barry quiver. “Bet you’d have let me.”  
  
“I would,” admitted Barry. He ran his fingers down Len’s back, feeling the muscles shift. “I was fantasizing about it, actually. Thinking about how hard it would be to stay quiet. How hard you’d try to make me lose it…”

Len lined up with his hole and pushed in, making Barry immediately lose his train of thought. His nails raked down Len’s back without him even meaning to; groaning, Len thrusted harder into him and Barry cried out, trying desperately to pull him closer.

“I don’t try,” Len growled in his ear. “I’d make you lose it. Thought I nearly had. Clearly not doing my job if you were fantasizing about me doing something different to you… but you’re greedy, aren’t you?” He rocked his hips again; Barry turned his head and swore into the sofa cushions. “Probably wanted to get caught. You probably wanted that taxi driver to fuck you too, didn’t you?”

Violently, Barry shook his head.

“Liar,” Len breathed. “You’re such a slut for it. You’d take anyone, if you were that desperate for it.”  
  
Barry shook his head again. “Wouldn’t. Don’t want anybody else. Don’t ever want anyone but you to touch me ever again.”  
  
“Good,” Len said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He pulled Barry closer, and Barry wrapped his legs around Len’s waist and locked his ankles together, keeping them pressed tightly against each other, Barry’s cock pressed up against Len’s belly.

“Who do you belong to?”  
  
“You,” Barry whispered.  
  
“Just me?”  
  
“Only ever you,” Barry promised. “Only ever want you, love you so much, you were made for me - ”

“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong.”  
  
Even in his desperate haze, Barry found himself hurt by that. Bewildered, he looked up into Len’s gleaming eyes. “What?”  
  
“I wasn’t made for you, Scarlet. You were made for me. Put upon this earth just so you could be mine. And you’re so damn good at it.”

He started rocking his hips, and Barry grabbed Len’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer, to eliminate even the smallest amount of distance between them. They didn’t have a proper rhythm, just frantic thrusts, Barry gasping against Len’s neck, driving Len’s cock deeper into him on every thrust. Len was still talking, rambling in a way he very rarely did, and it all felt so unbelievably good that Barry couldn’t even focus on the words. It all jumbled together, until all he could make out was the love in Len’s voice as he whispered in Barry’s ear, promising him everything, reminding Barry exactly who he belonged to. Len managed to get a hand between them, fingers still slippery with lube, providing the perfect slick grip for Barry to rock into, the motion of his hips as he fucked himself down on Len’s cock providing all the friction he needed. Eyes closed in frantic concentration, he worked himself faster, grabbing Len’s shoulders even more fiercely, digging his nails in to keep himself from losing it and vibrating. If Len noticed the pain, he didn’t seem to give a shit. His hand moved faster on Barry’s cock, driving him closer and closer to his peak.

“I wanna come, Len, please - ”  
  
“Do it, come for me, come on - ”  
  
“I’m so close - ”  
  
“Fuck, Barry, do it - ”

Barry came with a choked-off moan, spilling all over Len’s stomach, shuddering as the orgasm rippled through him. For a moment his whole body seized up with the effort of not vibrating, and then he collapsed bonelessly on top of Len, shaking all over. He could feel the lightning charm pressed between them, a single cool point separating their overheated skin.

Len groaned quietly, still right on the edge. Barry started rocking downwards again, trying to build up, work the orgasm out of him even as his own body still trembled faintly with the aftershocks of his own pleasure.

“Barry, you can - oh fuck - you can stop, you don’t have to - ”

“Shh,” Barry whispered, rolling his hips in a way that made Len choke and slam his fist down on the sofa. “You’re all mine, remember? I’ll take care of you.”

“Barry - ”

“Gonna make you come, gonna do it so good - no one else gets to make you come like I do, no one else is allowed to get you off again - ”

“God,” Len hissed, “Barry - ”

Barry leaned down to kiss him, Len’s fingers twisted in his hair - and then he _yanked_ on Barry’s hair, overcome by pleasure. Barry cried out in pain and clenched down involuntarily, his whole body tensing up, and Len came with a cry, his hips stuttering unevenly as he rode it out and then went still, going limp underneath him.

For a moment Barry leaned breathlessly over him, his hand resting on Len’s cheek, thumb stroking his face as he watched him come down from it. He was slightly flushed, his pupils blown out beyond all recognition, and for all that, he was still smiling.

“Hey,” Barry said. “Welcome back.”

“Never went anywhere,” Len said, his hands resting lightly on Barry’s waist.

“You sure? I thought maybe you took a quick trip up to heaven for a second there; you were calling God’s name pretty loud - ”

“Shut that smart mouth, before I shut it for you,” said Len.

“You like my smart mouth,” Barry said, and he got up, Len’s softening cock sliding out of him. “I’ll be right back.”

He padded through to the bathroom to fetch a washcloth. As he was grabbing a cloth off the sink, he caught sight of his reflection and couldn’t help smiling. Not at the way he looked completely and totally fucked, but at the sight of the little silver charm resting against his chest. It looked right, like it had always belonged there. Like a part of him.

When he got back into the living room, Len had sat up and was twisting around to try and get a look at his back.

“I admire your enthusiasm, Scarlet, but are you sure there’s no wildcat blood in your family? You clawed the hell out of me.”

“I got a little carried away,” Barry admitted. He passed Len the cloth to wipe himself down with. “Mind if I take a look?”

Obligingly, Len turned around and allowed Barry a full-on view of the furrows on his back. They were pretty deep; one had even drawn blood, glistening slightly on the surface, while the rest glowed livid red against the pale skin of Len’s back. Lightly, Barry touched the marks with his fingertips. Len shivered.

“Typically, you emerged unscathed,” he said, “despite my best efforts.”

True enough; there was no sign of the hickey Len had been trying to suck into his skin. His accelerated healing had seen to that, the mark fading away before he’d even had a chance to admire it. Shame. Barry had always felt that the best part about hickeys was being able to show them off afterwards, like a mark of pride. To prove that he belonged to someone, that Len had marked him. He held back a sigh. Too bad that was a thing of the past. Still, Joe would have had a seizure if Barry had walked into work the next morning with a mark like that on his neck.

“I’ll go get some ointment,” Barry said, and he turned away.

Len caught his hand. “Hold on a second.”

“I’ll just be a minute - ”

“ _Down_ , Barry.”

Grinning like an idiot, Barry allowed Len to yank him down onto the sofa. Their clothes were still strewn across the floor, the lube was open on the table, leaving a sticky ring in its wake, and when he looked up, he saw to his amusement that the lampshade was swinging gently in the aftermath. He could only imagine what it must have been doing when they were in the middle of all of it.

Resting his head on Barry’s shoulder, Len said quietly, “Meant what I said. About you and me.”

“Made for each other,” Barry said, echoing Len’s words. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me and you against the world,” Len said.

“Yeah,” Barry agreed, resting his cheek against the top of Len’s head. “Me and you.”

They sat together for a while until with a sigh, Barry got up to get some ointment for Len’s back. He came back with clean underwear for them both, and switched on the TV as he leaned over the back of the sofa to apply the cream to the marks on Len’s shoulder-blades.

_“ - according to police reports, the hijacked vehicle was suspected to contain a large shipment of the narcotic known as Vertigo, which first gained notoriety in an epidemic that swept Starling City in 2013,”_ the reporter was saying.

She stood in front of a truck that had been blown wide open, the back doors hanging off their hinges. Barry watched with interest, his fingers slowing on Len’s

skin as his attention was drawn to the screen. All this, happening in one night? His date, a break-in at S.T.A.R Labs, Nimbus still on the loose, and now someone had tried to drive a shipment of Vertigo right through the city, and someone else had stolen it? There was no way Barry would ever be able to keep track of it all. He would need to split himself into ten if he even stood a chance of handling everything.

“ _The vehicle was hijacked by two men, described as being in their early to mid forties and of medium build. The driver was pronounced dead at the scene; the three men acting as protection detail for the vehicle are in hospital, currently in a critical condition. A passerby was also injured in the escape. The CCPD are urging people to be vigilant, but not to approach these men as they are extremely dangerous.”_

The scene cut to some incredibly grainy security footage, where two almost indistinguishable blobs were sprinting at the truck, shooting mercilessly.

“ _CCTV footage captured at the scene shows the perpetrators shooting the tyres of the van before incapacitating the driver. They then proceeded to use liquid nitrogen to freeze the doors and gain access to the vehicle._ ”

Len stiffened. Barry paused.

“Sorry, did that hurt?”

“It’s a little tender,” Len said. “You and your claws. Can we turn this crap off?”

“Yeah, you’re right, watching this stuff just gets me down. It’s a terrible world we live in.” Barry grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “I’ll grab some DVDs, we can watch a couple of movies instead.” He was halfway off the sofa when he paused and rested his hand lightly on Len’s shoulder. “Leonard?”

“What?”

“I just wanted to say thank you for tonight. I’ve had the best evening. It was a crappy day, and this was just...wonderful. Thank you.”

Len smiled and rested his hand over the top of Barry’s. “Yeah,” he said. “It was a blast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder that if you enjoy my writing you can check out links to my writing and other social media here: https://capricioushelen.weebly.com/community.html


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is uh... basically an entire smut chapter. because apparently having half the last chapter dedicated to that wasn't enough for me. why am i like this lmao
> 
> if you want to skip this chapter entirely, or would like more detailed information about the contents, see the end of the chapter for a summary! to skip all of the scenes that contain explicit moments, stop reading at, 'Len gave him a wicked look,' and start reading again at, "We are so gonna get evicted." the sex itself begins after "There was a moment of quiet in the wake of the door closing," and ends at "We are so gonna get evicted."

The next day flew past in a blur that even Barry couldn’t seem to keep up with. He helped Caitlin face her fears in the pipeline, confronted Nimbus, and almost let his father glimpse him as the Flash. They established their metahuman prison in the pipeline, making Nimbus their first inmate. Barry had to admit that the sight of him battering futilely against the walls of his prison was a greatly satisfying sight, especially in light of what had happened to Joe. 

As soon as he had a spare five minutes, Barry was going to head over to Iron Heights to see his dad; what with everything that had been going on lately, he had been neglecting him. Sometimes it was hard to remember that while Barry’s life never stopped flying by, his dad’s was standing still. If Barry didn’t make time for him, who would?

But right now, he had another father to visit.

He and Iris stood by Joe’s bed, with Eddie hovering in one corner. Joe was resting, so it had kind of been a futile visit, but Barry figured he owed him after all the time Joe had spent keeping vigil at  _ his  _ bedside.

“I was so scared,” Iris said softly. “When the hospital called.. I didn’t know what I was gonna do. I don’t know what I’d do without my dad, Barry.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Joe’s tough; he’s a survivor. They’re only really keeping him in for observation.”

“I heard the Streak saved his life,” Iris said. “That’s what your dad told the guards when they came in.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe my dad actually met the Streak. Sorry, the  _ Flash _ .”

“Well at least wait a couple of days before you drag him into an interview,” Barry teased. “Give the guy a little time to recover.”

Iris shoved him. “As if I’m gonna interview my own father!” She considered for a moment. “You think I should?”

“No, I don’t,” Barry said. “Why don’t you try writing about some of the other metahumans?”

“Metahumans?”

“Uh, yeah, you know. Other people like the Flash, with powers. Joe got attacked by a man who could turn into a cloud of gas; that’s gotta be a good scoop.”

“The Flash gives hope to this city.  _ That’s  _ the message I wanna spread, not frightening people half to death thinking they’re gonna get mugged by floating clouds of gas! Honestly, Barry. You’d make a horrible journalist.”

“I would,” Barry agreed. “I don’t know, I just think maybe you should branch out. Your Flash stuff is doing well, but you don’t want people to think you’re a one trick pony.”

“I guess not…” 

Iris stared at Joe for a while. Barry lapsed into silence, wondering if he ought to step out and give them some space - but then Iris took a deep breath and turned away from Joe’s sleeping form.

“Can I talk to you for a second? Outside?”

“Oh, sure,” Barry said, and followed her out into the corridor. To his surprise, Iris motioned for Eddie to come along.

He’d expected her to stop as soon as they were out of the room, but Iris led them down several corridors and into a small waiting room before she stopped and closed the door. Going to stand with Eddie, she faced off against Barry with an uncharacteristically nervous look on her face.

“I have something I have to tell you. I was going to mention it yesterday, before things got… well. You know what happened yesterday. But after what we agreed, about not wanting to let things change between us, I realised I need to start being more honest. So I’ve decided it’s time to tell you.”

“Tell me...what?”

Eddie and Iris exchanged looks. Barry experienced a moment of panic as his mind flickered through a hundred different potential endings for this conversation, each one worse than the last. His hands were sweating.

“Barry," Iris said, "this is Eddie."   
  
Eddie looked at his feet, fidgeting from foot to foot like a naughty schoolboy.   
  
Bemusedly, Barry said, "Uh...I know. We work together. He's...Joe's partner." He wondered if she thought the lightning had affected his brain.    
She took a deep breath. "Eddie is my boyfriend."   
  
Barry sucked in air hard and choked on it. Rattling like a blocked vacuum cleaner, he flailed around until Eddie hastily leaped forward to bang him on the back. He did this so vigorously that Barry half expected his lungs to shoot out of his mouth and land on the floor.   


"Okay, thanks, Eddie," he choked, eyes watering.    


He blinked back tears to try and focus on Iris, who currently looked very swimmy. When his eyes finally focused, he noticed how hard she was biting her lip.    


"How long has  _ that  _ been happening?” he asked eventually.  
  
"About six months. He was there for me when you were in the coma; he covered a lot of shifts for my Dad so he could spend more time with you. One thing led to another..."   
  
"Does Joe know?" He already knew the answer.    
  
"We'd both be dead right now if he did."    
  
"You'll be twice as dead if he finds out you didn't tell him," warned Barry. "Especially if things are getting serious."    
  
"They're not really getting serious," Iris said hastily, just as Eddie said, "They're getting pretty serious."    
  
They stared at each other. Iris went pink and looked away. Eddie rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
"You have to tell him," Barry said.    
  
"No. No way, it's just too awkward. Eddie is my dad's partner, I can't spoil things like that for them."    
  
"The longer you leave it, the worse it's gonna get when he finds out. I told him about Leonard straight away."    
  
"Yeah, and look how well that turned out," Iris said.    
  
She had a point. Barry had spent a lot of time wishing he hadn't complained about Len so much before he started dating him. Joe went off like a nuclear bomb when Barry told them he was dating his jealous asshole of a roommate and it had ruined dinner. When the two of them met, it went even worse. He had genuinely feared for Len's life the first time they went to Joe's house for dinner, when Joe had spent the whole meal glaring viciously over the puttanesca. Of course, it didn't help that Len took such vindictive pleasure in being an asshole, winding Joe up as tightly as he could throughout the meal. Only Barry kicking them both under the table and pleading with them on multiple occasions had prevented bloodshed.  
  
Eddie, however, was not an asshole. He was so nice that it was almost obnoxious, and he and Joe already got along. There would be no issues in that department.  
  
"Len has some kind of death wish," Barry pointed out, "and he and Joe hate each other. You guys won't have that problem."   
  
"One thing at a time, Barr. _ Wally  _ doesn’t even know yet. We’re taking things slowly trying not to spread it around... It took a long time for us to decide to tell you about this. We thought you might be mad."   
  
"Mad? Why would I be mad?"  
  
They both fidgeted.  
  
It hit him then, and he laughed. "Oh. You mean because I had a crush on you when I was a kid? Years and years ago? Come on, Iris. I don't feel that way about you anymore. It was only ever puppy love for me. I was having a hard time and I latched on to you, and now I'm over it. As long as you're happy I don't care who you go out with."  
  
The relief on Iris' face was palpable. For the life of him Barry didn't know why. As far as he was concerned the matter of him and Iris was resolved when he sat her and Joe down at the end of tenth grade and told them he was gay. He hadn't realised there was still any debate about it.  
  
"Why don't you guys come to us for dinner?"   
  
"Us?"    
  
"Me and Len. Tomorrow night. Len's a fantastic cook, Eddie, you'll love it. Just don't listen to a word that comes out of his mouth, he enjoys being an asshole."    
  
"I don't know, Barr..."    


"Aw, c'mon, Iris. If you guys can handle Leonard then you can definitely handle Joe, he's not half as difficult to get along with. It'll be good practice."  
  
He could see Iris weakening. "Well..."  
  
"Great!" Barry said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie slump. He couldn't say he blamed him; Joe and Iris loved to tell horror stories about Len, so Eddie was probably convinced he'd be going to dinner with Genghis Khan. "Bring a bottle of wine. Chardonnay, he likes that. I'll get him to make smoked salmon. It'll be fun!"

 

~*~

It'll be  _ fun _ ?" Len repeated acidly.   
  
"Yeah, you know, just the four of us. Like a double date."    
  
"Sounds great! I'll break out the hors d'oeuvres and we can all play Scrabble like one big happy family!" Len said, viciously sarcastic. "You want to bring _ another _ cop into our home? Why can't she date someone who w orks in an office or something? Do you people know  _ anybody  _ who isn't a member of the CCPD?"   


"Nobody eligible. The thought of having Cisco as a brother in law gives me heart palpitations." He loved the guy, but imagine the wedding. It'd be one giant nerd-fest with all the guests dressed as Jedi and Cisco trying to coax Iris into a gold bikini. Barry shuddered at the thought.   
  
"The thought of making dinner for a cop gives _ me _ heart palpitations. Uninvite them."   
  
"Len, don't be an asshole. Eddie's a sweetheart when you get to know him."    
  
"Oh, really? Well then maybe _you_ should  get to know him." Len slammed the oven door. "Eat some mini-bruschettas and talk about cop things, and I'll go and be an asshole someplace else."   
  
"You know you're my favourite asshole. I wouldn't want you any other way. ...Except maybe at dinner parties."    


Len scowled.   


"It's just one dinner," Barry pleaded. "As a favour to me."   
  
"That's one hell of an IOU, Scarlet."    
  
Theatrically, Barry went down on his knees. "For me, Lenny? I'll do anything you want."    
  
In spite of himself, Len smirked. "That's one hell of an offer."    
  
"Anything," Barry promised recklessly.    
  
Len's smirk grew dangerous. Barry began to feel a sliver of doubt, but he maintained his pleading expression.

"Fine," Len said. "We'll do dinner. I'll play domestic. I'll even make dessert."   
  
Barry felt the sweet thrill of victory. Whatever price Len demanded would be well worth it. "What do I have to do?"    
  
"Stay on your knees," Len said. "I'll be right back."    
  
He vanished, heading down the hallway to their bedroom. Confused, Barry remained obediently on his knees. A blowjob? That seemed like a small price to pay. Still, he didn't object.   


When Len returned he was wearing a quite frankly evil grin. It was a little concerning. Barry eyed him suspiciously.   


"I'll do dinner with Eddie and Iris," Len said. "I'll behave myself. I'll even be nice. But you have to wear  _ this _ during dinner."   


Barry braced himself. Would it be his checked apron? A silly hat? A bow tie, maybe, or a feather boa? Something suitably ridiculous and humiliating, for sure.   


From behind his back, with a flourish, Len produced an inconspicuous white box. Warily, Barry took it from him. He turned it over several times, but the box gave nothing away. When he shook it experimentally, it rattled.   


There was nothing else for it. Burning with curiosity, Barry opened the box.    


Nestled in a bunch of curly protective shavings was a very distinctly shaped black object. He lifted it out and stared at it, comprehension suddenly dawning. The memory of a joke Len had made a few weeks back, when he'd been on the internet and he'd suddenly flipped his laptop around to show something to Barry.   


"Found your Christmas present," he'd said with a smirk.   


Barry remembered leaning curiously over to see the screen and choking at the image and accompanying description. VIBRATING BUTT PLUG - HOURS OF PLEASURE FOR YOU AND YOUR PARTNER.   


Horrified, Barry looked up. "Oh, no," he said.   
Len gave him a wicked look. "Oh, yes."

 

~*~

This was a terrible idea. It was a no good, very bad idea. It was the worst idea in the entire history of ideas.   
  
"Bullshit," Len said. "Turn around. Let me see."   


Flushing, Barry turned his back on him. He'd just emerged from the bathroom after half an hour spent carefully pushing the plug into himself. It wasn't vibrating yet, thank god. The thing came with a remote, which struck Barry as quite frankly a dangerous thing to give to Leonard Snart. Still, even without the vibrations he was painfully aware of it. Every time he moved, he felt the plug shift accordingly. He was going to have to be very careful to make sure it didn't hit any of his sweet spots. 

Already he was struggling to keep his cool; Len had ordered him not to touch himself today and he was already feeling it, even if he hadn't been parading himself, naked, for Len's inspection. He had to keep this thing in right through dinner without anybody noticing. He felt like a slut. Len's gaze on him did nothing to dispel this feeling. Barry shivered.   


"Very nice," Len said appreciatively. "Possibly the best idea I've ever had. Bend over for me?"   


Barry leaned obediently forwards, shivering slightly as the plug shifted inside him. Len ran a hand across his ass, then slowly twisted the plug. Barry groaned softly.   


"Better not make any noises like that when Iris and Eddie get here," Len said, "unless you  _ want _ them to know you're a little slut."   


Barry bit his bottom lip. His cock twitched.   


"I can't do this," he said.  
  
"You said you'd do anything," Len reminded him. "You'd better get dressed; they'll be here soon."  
  
Wordlessly, Barry obeyed. He was just fastening the buttons on his shirt when the doorbell rang.

“Showtime,” said Len, and he headed for the front door. A little stiffly, Barry followed.

Just as he was about to open the door, however, Len grabbed his hand.

“Just for the record, you don’t actually have to do this if it’s too much. You can go take it out whenever - right now, if you want. I’ll get the door while you sort yourself out. I know I said… but if you’re not comfortable…”

“Oh, I’m uncomfortable,” said Barry. He lowered his voice and murmured, “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

Before Len could argue, Barry opened the door, huge smile on his face.

“Eddie! Iris! Come in!”

He did his best not to twitch when he stepped back from the door and felt the plug shifting with every movement.

 

~*~

To Barry’s surprise, the evening went astonishingly well. 

The food was excellent - this was always the case with their dinner parties, Len outdoing himself on every occasion, but it was a relief nonetheless. Watching Eddie’s wary expression descend into pure bliss when the food touched his tongue made Barry’s entire night. Len acted like an angel - so much so that Iris kept shooting looks across the table, clearly wondering what he was up to. Eddie was politely bewildered, since they’d all warned him so many times that Len could be a dick. Tonight, though, he was an excellent host. He made jokes, offered everyone second helpings and even listened to Eddie’s stories about work with a passable imitation of interest. It was worth every second of discomfort, in Barry’s opinion.

To Barry’s relief, aside from Iris commenting that he looked a little flushed, no one noticed anything amiss. He figured out that if he moved slowly and didn’t fidget too much, he could almost forget about the steady pressure of the plug in his ass.

Famous last words.

They’d just made a start on dessert - a trifle, as promised, with little silver balls and hundreds and thousands sprinkled on top - when all of a sudden the plug started vibrating. Not lightly either - it went straight from being motionless to what felt like the highest setting. 

Barry spat his drink all over the tablecloth.

Iris yelped. “Barry!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine - went down the wrong way!” he spluttered, white wine dripping from his nostrils. He was desperate to avoid another well-intended pummelling by Eddie, who was already preparing to start thwacking him between the shoulderblades.

Coughing loudly to try and cover the low buzzing sound - it couldn’t possibly be as loud as he thought, but he was terrified they could all hear 

it - Barry tried desperately to think. With the plug vibrating inside him, it was astonishingly difficult. He must have moved wrongly and switched the damn thing on by mistake. As he was trying to figure out a way of subtly groping his ass to try and switch it off without anybody noticing, he looked up across the table and made eye contact with Len, who had an innocent look on his face. At the same time, Barry suddenly remembered that it wasn’t just a vibrating plug; it was a  _ remote-controlled  _ vibrating plug.

That  _ bastard. _

Barry got up as quickly as he could. “I’m going to get more wine.”

“There’s still half a bottle left,” Iris pointed out.

“Yeah, I - I’m kind of in the mood for red. I’ll be right back.”

He limped out of the kitchen as quickly as he could with the plug still inside him. Shutting the door behind him, he staggered over to the sink and turned on the taps, fervently thanking God that they’d decided to move the table into the living room for dinner tonight. Barry splashed his face over and over with cold water, his head spinning. At least the plug had stopped vibrating; apparently Len had decided to cut him a little slack. 

Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths. At this point in the day, not getting off yet would already have had him on edge, but with something inside him as well it was like some kind of torture. The urge to go and lock himself in the bathroom and just touch himself, take the edge off, was unbelievable. If he was quick enough, didn’t draw it out (and he wasn’t in the mood to draw it out) they might not even notice he was gone…

“Barry?”

He flinched, which made the plug shift and made him shudder again. Biting back a groan, Barry turned around.

“Iris?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

He’d caught a glimpse of his reflection in the stainless steel of the sink; he was flushed and bright-eyed, and dripping wet. “What? Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Barry,” Iris snapped, in her best no-nonsense,  _ talk now or I’ll skin you alive _ voice. “I know you. I’ve known you for a long time, and I know when something is wrong with you - so spill.”

His first instinct was to lie, but his head was still all over the place and he wasn’t sure he could do it convincingly. If she figured it out, she’d tear his head off and then start sniffing around like a bloodhound, giving him no chance to sensor what she knew. The truth, then. Sort of.

“Look, Iris, I’m not going into detail, and this is strictly need to know. But, uh. Len and I… it’s been a while. We’re both busy, we have full schedules, they don’t always match up...we’re both working, we don’t always have time to...y’know…” He gestured vaguely. “Connect.”  _ Great choice of words,  _ he thought, cringing. 

Iris’ eyes widened. “ _ Oh _ . Oh, I see. Don’t worry Barr, I totally get it.”

“You do?”

“Oh, sure. I mean, y’know, sometimes Eddie and I...he has a stressful day at work, or whatever, and it kills the mood, or he’s too tired...and sometimes that means he has trouble with, you know, his  _ equipment _ , and - ”

“Whoa, Iris, Iris, Iris,” Barry interrupted, hands in the air. “Need to know. I do not need to know that.”

“Right,” Iris agreed, a little sheepishly. “Of course you don’t.” She patted him on the arm. “You want me and Eddie to make like a tree?”

“Like a...tree?”

“Yeah, you know. You want us to... _ leave _ ?”

Barry groaned. That was a truly Cisco-worthy pun. “No, don’t worry about that. It’s not… urgent. I’m having a great night. It’s nice to see Len actually getting along with someone for once. But, uh. Maybe in an hour or so, if you guys wanted to get an early night, I would really appreciate it.” 

Iris gave him a knowing look. “Sure thing, Barry. You can count on me.”

Weak with relief, Barry started to follow her out of the kitchen, but at the last moment she stopped dead, making him leap back. God, he regretted that; he gritted his teeth.

“Listen, Barr - you just have to be assertive. You know what guys are like; you are one. You have to spell it out. If he’s not...doing it the way you like, tell him. Draw him a map.”

Barry’s mouth fell open. “Oh, God, Iris, it’s not like that - he - I’m  _ satisfied _ , it’s just - ”

“I know how shy you are about this stuff,” Iris said knowingly. “You don’t have to be. Just tell him what to do. Trust me, they love it. He’ll think it’s hot.”

She vanished into the living room, leaving Barry to gape after her. If only she knew. Admittedly, outside of the bedroom Barry could barely even say the word ‘sex’ without spontaneously combusting - but between the sheets he was the opposite of shy. The word ‘bossy’ had been used to describe him before. (She was right, Len  _ did  _ love it, but that wasn’t the point.) He didn’t want Iris to think that Len wasn’t good in bed, but there was no way of saying ‘Iris, Len is a fantastic and highly satisfying lover’ without actually  _ saying  _ it, and it was too late now anyway. Miserably, Barry trailed after her, hoping valiantly that she wouldn’t start trying to give  _ Len  _ sex advice into the bargain. There was no possible way that could end well.

Luckily, when he got back it was to an entirely different scene. Dinner had been abandoned; Len was sat on the sofa, Eddie in the armchair, and they were playing cards. As Barry entered, Len looked up nonchalantly and made eye contact. Barry gave a slight nod, and Len nodded back and went back to eyeing his cards.

Iris stood over them, arms folded. “What are you two doing?”

“Leonard’s teaching me to cheat at cards!” Eddie said excitedly.

“Babe. You’re a cop. You’re an upstanding citizen. You don’t cheat at cards.”

“Bullshit. Upstanding citizens cheat at cards all the time,” Len said. “Take myself, for instance.”

Iris looked disapproving. Barry tried - and failed - to hide a snort.

“You’ve picked it up pretty fast,” Len told Eddie - high praise from him. “When you start getting really good, we’ll pit you against Barry. Just don’t expect to win. He’s a little card sharp; beats me every time, and he doesn’t even cheat.”

Barry shrugged modestly. Len patted the sofa beside him.

“I’m playing fair while I teach Eddie the basics of cheating, but I suck at playing by the rules. Come help me out?”

“Sure,” Barry agreed. 

He was still feeling vengeful for the vibrating plug during dinner, though, so he didn’t sit in the spot Len had indicated. Instead, he settled down in Len’s lap, one arm around his neck.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Len observed, and he splayed out his cards for Barry to look at. 

As he pored over the cards, Barry shifted in Len’s lap. He wriggled and fidgeted under the pretence of getting comfortable, but really he was very deliberately grinding against Len’s crotch. Len stiffened, in more ways than one. Keeping his expression neutral, Barry pressed harder against him, hoping Len could feel the base of the plug rubbing against him. As he did so, he pointed wordlessly at one of the cards.

They played a few rounds in comfortable silence after that. Barry pretty much played the game on Len’s behalf, while Iris perched disapprovingly on the arm of Eddie’s chair and occasionally whispered advice in his ear. It would have been a sweet, quiet evening, if it weren’t for the fact that Barry was steadily grinding more filthily into Len’s lap. 

Every now and then Len’s hand would delve into his pocket and he’d turn the plug on, just to make Barry behave. It worked at first, but before long it began to have the opposite effect. Each short burst just made Barry harder and more desperate. Made him play dirty. 

A few more games later and Barry had given up all attempts at decorum and was draped around Len like a blanket, nose pressed against his neck. Lightly, he breathed out, felt goosebumps rising where his breath had touched. Len dug his fingers into Barry’s thigh, and Barry let out an embarrassing noise that was thankfully covered by a loud yawn from Iris.

“Babe, I think we’re going to have to call it a night. I am exhausted.”

Eddie pouted. “But I was about to win!”

“Dream on,” Len told him, throwing his cards down on the table to reveal a winning hand.

“It’s been so great, guys, but I am so tired,” Iris said. “We should do it again some time. It’s been fun!”

“It sure has,” Len said. He was looking at Barry, but the sentiment was probably still appreciated. For his part, Barry didn’t even pretend to have eyes for anyone but Len.

They got up to see Iris and Eddie out, both with some strategic shuffling and adjusting of clothing. Some awkward hugging ensued, with Barry trying to angle himself strategically so that his hard-on wouldn’t brush against anyone. Len didn’t even attempt it, just looked aloof and shook hands. How Barry envied him. Iris smirked as she said her goodbyes, and Barry sensed that there was going to be an interrogation next time they met. He didn’t take her on, just smiled and waved and prayed for them both to hurry up, and then they were out in the hallway and Len closed the door and there was blissful silence in the apartment.

There was a moment of quiet in the wake of the door closing. They exchanged glances almost sheepishly; each had expected the other to pounce as soon as their guests were gone.   
  
Len moved first, throwing himself at Barry and slamming him against the door. Surprised, Barry let out a moan, loud enough to compensate for all the ones he'd held back that evening. Len grabbed a handful of his hair, tilted his head back and went to kissing his neck.   


"You did it," he murmured. "I didn't think you would."  
  
"But I did."  
  
"They didn't notice a thing… which astounds me, the way you were grinding on me like that, you dirty little bastard."  
  
Barry cried out, grabbing a fistful of Len's shirt. "Please...I need it, please -"  
  
"I know," Len told him, "I'll take care of you."  
  
The plug started vibrating again, right against his prostate. Barry swore and arched his back, his head slamming against the front door. Len was already unfastening his pants for him, pulling them down to his knees and taking Barry's cock in his hand. After a whole evening of being deprived of any kind of touch, Barry almost sobbed in relief.  
  
"I can't - I'm so close - "  
  
"I know, I know you are. You can let go, Barry, come on, come for me -"  
  
Barry came with a keening sound that might have embarrassed him if he wasn't quite so far gone. Panting, he leaned against the wall. Pupils blown out, lips puffy, hair in disarray, he looked fucking obscene. Len kissed the noise out of his mouth and then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him into their bedroom.  
  
Barry lay on his back on their bed, slowly stroking himself back to hardness as Len stripped off, casting his clothes onto the floor. He crawled between Barry's legs, pulled his jeans the rest of the way off and unbuttoned his shirt for him, and then Barry pulled him down for a kiss that went on long enough to make both of their heads spin.  
  
Barry groaned when Len slid the plug out of him; he felt so empty, desperate for more. There was no need for words; Len slicked himself up and pressed the head of his cock against Barry's hole and when he pushed in, it was with a low moan that he couldn't have held back for anything.  
  
"Talk to me," Len ordered as he waited for Barry to adjust.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You were so good tonight, I'm going to make you come as many times as you want, but I'm already closer than I'd like to admit. Distract me."  
  
"Uh...okay."  
  
Len thrusted into him hard, and Barry immediately lost his train of thought.  
  
"Oh, fu - uh. I think I might have accidentally made Iris think that you're unsatisfying in bed."  
  
Immediately, Len stilled. Barry looked uncertainly up at him.  
  
"Uh. Too distracting?"  
  
"Now why would she think that?" Len asked dangerously.  
  
"Well, I told her it had been a while, and that I was kind of horny and that's why I was acting weird… and I guess she kind of drew her own conclusions from that."

There was a very long pause.

“Next time we all stay at Joe's," Len said, "I'm going to fuck you until you scream.  _ Then _ we'll see if she thinks I'm an unsatisfying lover.”

“Do you have some kind of a death wish? Joe doesn’t even let us share a room at his house, if he caught us in bed together he’d shoot us both!”

“You’re a grown man, Barry, you can do what you want,” Len reminded him, and he thrusted more deeply into him.

“Ah - not in Joe’s  _ house _ !”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I just sat through a three hour dinner party with  a vibrating butt-plug in my ass. Are you really calling me boring right now?”

“You have a point,” Len agreed.

That was around the point in the conversation that Barry decided there should be less talking and more fucking; he grabbed Len’s shoulders and pulled him down so that he could kiss his neck, and Len took the hint and started slowly rolling his hips. There was quiet after that, aside from the sounds of their bodies moving together, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall and Barry’s moans. He raked his nails lightly down Len’s back, trying to get a rise out of him, but all he got for his trouble was more kisses. 

“You’re so quiet,” Barry complained breathlessly.

“I like hearing you.”

“Well I can be louder. I want to hear you, too.”

Len leaned in closer, his lips right up against Barry’s ear. Breathing a little heavier, he paused to see what effect this was having, and then let out a low moan that made Barry shiver, sparks flitting down his spine. A full-body shudder ran through him; he closed his eyes, bit down on his lip to keep from making a similar sound himself.

“Like that?” Len murmured.

“God, yes. Again.”

Obligingly, Len moaned again. Barry’s whole body jerked in response, flooding with sensation as the sound of Len’s voice made him tingle all over. In a way it felt like a physical touch; fingers dancing down his spine, drifting up his inner thighs, brushing against all his most sensitive places. He felt himself go loose and pliant, one hand on the back of Len’s neck to keep him close, but his touch light. Not constraining, not possessive. Trusting Len to stay as close as he wanted without the extra encouragement.

They were moving together more urgently now, the pace growing more frantic as Barry’s traitorous body, as always, sped things along. Len had his eyes closed, growing breathless as he thrusted deeper, hitting Barry’s sweet spots every time, making Barry shake helplessly, his hips moving up into Len’s body, matching his rhythm, still wanting more.

Len made another low sound that went straight to Barry’s cock, precome leaking from his slit, the head brushing up wetly against Len’s stomach, incontrovertible evidence of Barry’s arousal. But hot as the sound was, it was too controlled. Calculated. What he really wanted was for Len to lose himself, the way he only did when he was right on the edge, only seconds away from his peak. To draw that moment out, to have Len’s pleasure in his hands and know that it was all him, and that Len wasn’t going to be able to think of anything but Barry. Barry’s mouth. His hands. His cock. 

He let his hand move down from the back of Len’s neck, down the bumpy, scarred skin of his back that had once shocked him, but now he accepted as a part of Len. That map of marks and healed-over wounds turned him on more than any smooth expanse of skin had on another lover. Barry’s fingers kept wandering, exploring, and then they found Len’s ass-cheek and squeezed, kneading his toned ass. 

“Can I - I wanna finger you. Can I?”

Len pushed himself up a little to look Barry in the eyes. “You wanna top me for a while?”

Barry shook his head and kept moving, shifting his hips to encourage Len to continue. “No, this is good - fuck, it’s really good - I just - I wanna finger you while we do it. Can I?”

Leonard answer him by grabbing the lube off the bedside table and pressing it into Barry’s hand.

He went back to pounding Barry into the mattress, the headboard banging insistently on the wall while Barry tackled the lube, struggling to get the cap off without losing focus on the quite frankly incredible things Len was doing to his body. A bit of fumbling later and one of Barry’s slicked up fingers pressed up against Len’s hole. He had every intention of starting off slowly - Len was nowhere near as used to penetration as Barry was - but an ill-timed movement of Len’s hips made his hand slip and all of a sudden his finger was in up to the knuckle and Len was swearing at the top of his lungs.

“ _ Fuck _ !”

Freezing, Barry said, “Oh God, I’m sorry, did that - did I hurt you? I’m sorry - ”

“No, god, it’s good, Barry, it’s good,  _ again. _ ”

Enthused, Barry slid his finger out a little and then back in, a little more slowly this time but being sure to drive in deep, rubbing up against Len’s sweet spot. He was rewarded by the gravelly sound of Len’s moans, a disruption in the smoothness of his thrusts as he fell apart under Barry’s ministrations. 

Breathlessly, Barry added a second finger. In response, Len gasped and fucked into him harder, making Barry arch his back and cry out. The headboard thudded repeatedly against the wall; Barry arched frantically back against Leonard, begging loudly as the motion caused Len to push in deeper, driving him closer to the edge. He was struggling to focus on keeping his fingers moving inside Len, but every noise Len made in response sent a rush of electricity flickering through him. He shook with the effort of keeping himself from giving in to the speed-force, which was seductively tugging at him, trying to convince him to let go and just drown in the sensations. Desperate, Barry groaned in frustration and slammed his head against the headboard. Pain exploded through the back of his head, sending him dizzy, and the sound his skull made when it connected with the headboard was deafening. 

“Shit,” Len said, stopping to grab the back of Barry’s head with one hand. “Are you all right?”

Barry groaned for an entirely different reason. “Jesus. My head’s pounding.”

“Well what the hell did you do that for, you idiot?” Len carded gentle fingers through his hair, feeling for a bump, and all the while still trembling with the effort of staying still when he so clearly wanted to keep going.

“No, my head’s literally pounding. Can you hear that?”

They both fell silent. From somewhere far below there was the distinct sound of aggrieved thumping, over and over. 

Barry and Len looked at each other.

“12B,” they said in unison, and both burst out laughing.

Things didn’t last for long after that. Still laughing helplessly, Barry curled his fingers one last time and Len came, gasping with a combination of amusement and arousal. It was mere seconds before Barry had squeezed his free hand between them and a few shaky strokes later he was coming, his face pressed into the crook of Len’s shoulder, feverishly kissing his exposed skin like he couldn’t stop.

Eventually they separated, Len pulling out and collapsing onto his back with a contented sigh. Barry wiped his fingers off on the bedsheets, still grinning like a fool. This earned him a playful shove from Len, who couldn’t stop smirking. 12B was still hammering half-heartedly on the ceiling, but after another minute or so, the banging petered out and they were left with nothing but the sound of their own ragged breathing, basking in the afterglow.

“We are so gonna get evicted,” said Barry with a grin.

“Worth it. Anyway, the answer is simple. We’ll just have to move. Get a new place with nice, non-judgemental neighbours.”

“Or deaf ones,” Barry teased. 

Len shrugged. “You did say you wanted me to be louder.”

“I got what I wanted.” Turning his head, Barry looked at Len, flushed and bright-eyed and still smiling, and said, “Thank you for tonight. It was perfect. Although I may never be able to look Eddie or Iris in the face again.”

“Oh, you weren’t that obvious. Aside from the squirming, blushing and the raging hard-on you had all night, I could hardly even tell you were horny.”

“Oh my God,” said Barry. “You’re the worst.”

“Well you didn’t seem to think so a couple of minutes ago when I had my dick in your ass.” 

Laughing, Barry rolled over to kiss him on the cheek. Len smirked up at the ceiling, wrapping an arm around Barry’s shoulders. 

“I must admit, I had my reservations about tonight. But Eddie isn’t so bad. For a cop.”

Barry feigned shock. “Careful what you say there, Len, those are strong words.”

“Oh, shut your mouth. He’s sweeter than a candy-cane and even more naive than you are, but he’s a fast learner. I’ll make a cheat out of him yet.”

“Does that mean I can invite him and Iris over again some time?”

“I’ll think about it,” said Len. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Next time he comes over, you still have to wear the butt-plug.”

Outraged, Barry grabbed a pillow and whumped him in the face with it. Seizing his own pillow, Len gleefully whacked Barry back, and they fought mercilessly until Len’s pillow was in danger of bursting, they were both sweaty and exhausted, and their faces ached from grinning so much.

“Are things always going to be this great between us?” Barry asked, staring at Len like he’d hung the moon.

“Always,” Len said, and he lay back and basked in the kind of sweet, unencumbered joy that once upon a time, he’d never dreamed he would experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter summary: After facing the metahuman Kyle Nimbus, Joe is hospitalised. Barry and Iris meet in the hospital, and Iris reveals that she and Eddie are dating. This leads Barry to invite the two of them for dinner, and Len is Not Amused. He agrees to play nice, however, as long as Barry consents to wear a vibrating butt-plug for the entire evening. This leads to Barry acting very strangely as Len teases him throughout the night. After Eddie and Iris leave, Barry and Len have sex, and Len decides afterwards that Eddie isn't so bad after all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another double update because i always feel a little bit guilty about the self-indulgent smutty chapters haha
> 
> enjoy!!

He had a few quiet days after that, mostly filled with work and tests at S.T.A.R Labs. Work was awkward - Barry had the unfortunate suspicion that Iris had told Eddie about the reason they’d left so abruptly after the dinner party, because Eddie suddenly seemed incapable of looking at him without turning redder than the Flash suit. His embarrassment started to rub off on Barry, who hadn’t thought it was  _ that  _ weird to ask guests to leave so you could spend some alone time with your partner. But then again, Eddie  _ was  _ a detective. Maybe he’d put two and two together about Barry’s weird behaviour that night and realised something had been going on right in front of him. What a horrifying thought.

Barry suddenly started spending a lot more time in the lab, avoiding Eddie’s mortified gaze.

S.T.A.R Labs, meanwhile, were working him to the bone...in a manner of speaking. He couldn’t exactly claim it was gruelling work. Doctor Wells wanted to improve his concentration, and also his ability to multi-task, which included having Barry play every board game under the sun, seemingly at the same time. It was fun at first - Wells slaughtered him at chess, but Barry killed it at Scrabble, Snakes and Ladders, Operation, Ping-Pong, and Dominoes before Caitlin announced a mutiny and point blank refused to play with him any more. It wasn’t long after that that Cisco, in the wake of a very embarrassing game of Strip Poker (during which Barry also spectacularly lost a round of Uno to Doctor Wells) followed suit. 

Shortly after this, Barry attempted to win them round with  _ Cards Against Humanity,  _ at which point Doctor Wells came in mid-round, claimed they’d all lost the point of the exercise and put a blanket ban on all card games in the lab. Barry sulked for a good half hour, but concluded it was probably for the best.

“I expect we’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Allen?” Wells asked, eyeing the  _ Cards Against Humanity  _ box with no small amount of disgust. “Since I hear that Mr. Snart is away for the next few days.”

“Uh, yeah, Len’s busy with work stuff but I’m actually spending some time with a friend tomorrow. Felicity Smoak? She works for Queen Consolidated in Starling City; she’s a friend of the Arrow’s. I haven’t seen her in a while, so I asked her to come down.”

“Ah yes, I believe I know of Felicity Smoak. A prodigious computer scientist, one of the best in her field,” Wells said. “Tell Miss Smoak that S.T.A.R Labs sends its best wishes. And if you felt like bringing her here to show her the facility… well. Someone of her talents would be welcome here.”

“I’ll pass that along, Doctor Wells, thank you,” Barry said. “And uh… I’m sorry about  _ Cards Against Humanity. _ ”

Wells waved him away. “I’m not completely devoid of a sense of humour, Mr. Allen. I only ask that next time you attempt to keep some distance between science and extreme vulgarity. I find it’s always best to have boundaries.”

“Yes sir,” Barry said, smiling sheepishly. “I’ll be sure to do that next time. Goodnight, Doctor Wells.”

He was almost out in the corridor by the time he heard Wells say quietly, “Goodnight, Barry.”

 

~*~

 

It was precisely 3.47am when Barry’s phone started ringing. He woke with a groan of complaint, flailing around to try and stop it, too tired and disorientated to wonder exactly why someone was calling him at 3am. His fingers found the phone; he tried to open his eyes only to be blinded by the backlight, turning his face away with a hiss. 

He prodded and tapped and swiped blindly at the screen until he somehow managed to successfully answer it with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Don’t panic,” said Leonard. “I’m at the hospital.”

Barry sat bolt upright, suddenly about as awake as it is possible to be. All thoughts of sleeping left him instantly. “What? Why? Oh my God, are you okay, did someone hurt you? What happened?” 

“I said  _ don’t  _ panic,” Len grumbled. “I’m fine, Barry, I just had a bit of an accident at work. It’s little more than a papercut. I wouldn’t even have called, but I didn’t want the hospital to do it for me and freak you out.” He mumbled something indistinct about not knowing why he bothered.

Barry didn’t care. He was already out of bed, making his way for the closet. “I’m coming down there.”

“Don’t come down here.”

“I’m coming down there.”

“Barry, don’t -”

Barry hung up on him. If Len was capable of arguing, it was a good sign. Didn’t mean Barry was going to let him win.

He had never been aware of what a blessing and a curse the speed-force was until that precise moment. In precisely twelve seconds he was dressed and ready to go; in twelve more, he’d packed Leonard an overnight bag so he wouldn’t have to sleep in an itchy hospital gown and a couple of books in case he got bored. All in all, less than a minute passed before he was out of the apartment and he reached the hospital less than five minutes after answering Len’s phone call.

It hit him then that he couldn’t go in there without explaining how the hell he had made it to the hospital in four minutes flat. By this point Barry was getting very good at spur of the moment excuses, but he didn’t think “I was in the area” was going to cut it when it was 3am and Len knew full well that five minutes ago he had been asleep in their apartment on the other side of the city.

At a loss, knowing he had no choice unless he wanted to reveal his secret, and hating himself for making the choice to prioritise that over Len, he did what Barry Allen did best. He ran.

Head down, he did laps of the hospital, running round the perimeter, zig-zagging up and down the parking lot. He had to pace himself; god knows it wouldn’t help matters if he accidentally ran too fast and created some kind of vacuum and destroyed the hospital, or broke the sound barrier, or god knows what else. All the time he was running, he struggled against the urge to stop and vomit. Len was in that building, suffering from unknown injuries, and Barry was out here in the parking lot zipping up and down like the Road Runner on steroids.

If he hadn’t heard Len speak, and wasn’t certain that he was in a fit enough state to bitch excessively, there was no way he’d still be outside. 

Barry made it almost twenty minutes before he decided enough was enough and he wasn’t waiting a second longer. Resuming an agonisingly normal speed, he jogged through the front doors of the ER and interrupted the first nurse he happened upon.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know if you’ve had a man come in - his name’s Leonard Snart, he’s been in some sort of accident?”

The woman opened her mouth - presumably to tell him to get in line like everybody else - but something in his expression gave her pause. 

“Wait here, honey. I’ll find out for you.”

She disappeared into some kind of staff room. Groaning, Barry paced up and down the hallway as quickly as he dared. One of the downsides of the speedforce was that it hadn’t done much to improve his patience; when it came to waiting around, Barry was horrendous. He’d got used to cutting queues, running red lights, doing everything at a hundred miles per hour whenever possible. Keeping his powers secret from Len was the only thing keeping him from being an insufferable asshole; given half a chance he’d have been zipping around like a whirlwind at home as well, just because he could.

In spite of his efforts to stay cool, he was practically running up and down the corridor outside the nurse’s office by the time she emerged. She raised an eyebrow at him and Barry skidded to a sheepish stop; what for him barely took the edge off his overflowing energy was running speed for everyone else.

“We do have a Mr. Snart on one of our wards,” she said, disregarding his weird behaviour. “Are you a relative?”

He and Len didn’t look a thing alike; he didn’t have a hope in hell of convincing anyone they were related. “I’m his husband,” Barry said, the lie falling off his tongue with remarkable ease. He hastily hid his left hand behind his back.

“Oh!” She quickly recovered. “I see. Right this way, Mr. Snart.”

Barry did his best not to react; hearing someone address him as “Mr. Snart” was just too weird.

The nurse led him up and down a series of convoluted corridors while Barry struggled against the urge to just sprint around the hospital checking every room until he found Len. It would probably have taken less time. But eventually, she pushed open a door and led him down to the end of a ward to where Len was sitting in a bed at the very end, apparently waiting for him.

“Len!” Barry said, lurching forwards.

He slammed into Len, who grunted in pain. “Easy, Scarlet, I’m in enough pain as it is.”

“Oh, God, sorry - ”

Barry lurched away from him, stricken, but Len grimaced and reached for his hand.

“I didn’t say you had to let go of me, I just said be careful.”

“Right,” Barry said, and he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” the nurse said, and after drawing the curtains around the cubicle she made a tactful retreat.

“What happened?” Barry demanded as soon as she was gone. “Are you okay?”

“Just a paper cut,” Len said, and with a small groan, he lifted his arm and pulled the hospital gown to the side. There was a whole lot of gauze taped to his side, just above his hip. In spite of Barry’s protests, Len peeled the bandage back to reveal a gouge in his side, like someone had tunneled a chunk out of him. It had been stitched, the edges furrowed with black thread, an ugly gaping pucker surrounded by flakes of dried blood.

Barry frowned. “Shouldn’t someone have cleaned that? It’s a mess, there’s blood all over you.”

Len shrugged and apparently regretted it. “Probably. I gather clumsy assholes with dubious insurance coverage aren’t at the top of their list of priorities. You didn’t have to come, you know. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t have been down here just as fast if I called you up and said something like that,” Barry said, still examining the wound.

“Yeah, well if you’d done it, it would probably be life-threatening. Your last hospital visit lasted nine whole months; the very thought of you getting so much as a sniffle gives me heart palpitations.” Len started trying to pull his gown back down. “Will you quit looking at it? I know some people dig scars, but I’d have thought you’d at least like it to heal before you start ogling.”

“How did you even do this? It looks deep.”

Len snorted. “Construction equipment wasn’t switched off properly. Trust me to walk past a massive drill just as it somehow manages to turn itself on.”

“That...doesn’t look consistent with an injury like that,” Barry said.

“Can you quit examining me?” Len said irritably. “I’m fine, I told you.”

“At least tell me you’re going to sue the company,” Barry said. “A few inches across and this could have hit something vital. All it would take would be for that drill to nick one of your internal organs -”

“Of course I’m going to sue, Barry, do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” Len leaned back in bed with a grimace. “Oh, I forgot to ask. How was it?”

Barry frowned. Either Len was babbling or he’d seriously lost track of the conversation. Was he concussed or something? “How was what?” he asked warily.

Len settled back against the pillows. “Our wedding. Shame I missed it; I guess I must have had something else going on that day.”

“Oh.” Barry grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry. Best I could come up with at short notice. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me in.”

“Ah, it’s good practice for the future. We’re gonna have to change your name, though. ‘Barry Snart’ doesn’t have the greatest ring to it. We might have to double-barrel it.”

“Snart-Allen? Allen-Snart? Hmm. We’ll have to work on that.” All of a sudden, Barry realised exactly what logistics they were debating and froze. “Wait - are you actually asking - ”

Len looked alarmed. “Let’s not be hasty. We’re both young - ”

“You’re not that young.”

“ - No one’s popping any questions, certainly not right now. I’m in a hospital bed. You should be feeding me grapes. You didn’t even bring me roses and a ‘get well soon’ teddy bear. I’m not sure you’re husband material, after all.”

“You’re a dick,” Barry said, grinning. “And I wasn’t trying to - y’know, hint, or anything, I was just - ”

“Let’s put it aside for now,” Len said smoothly. “Although I just want to forewarn you that if you make any more jokes about me being old, you’re banned from sex for a week and you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” said Barry solemnly. “You’re clearly in the prime of your youth.”

Len flashed him a smile. “Now that’s more like it.”

 

~*~

 

After he’d got a few more hours’ sleep in a rickety hospital chair and breakfasted on slightly stale croissants and watery coffee, though, Barry didn’t feel quite so much like laughing. He’d left Len in the hospital to recuperate - and grumble - because the doctors weren’t so sure about discharging him yet, and in the meantime he’d had a little more time to brood. That wound didn’t look like the kind of wound you’d get from a drill; it was too big, and too messy. And although Barry knew that Len’s job was contract work, and he didn’t just clean the same place night after night, Len was a janitor. Why the hell would he be hanging around anywhere near a bunch of construction equipment?

Too many questions and no answers whatsoever. Barry was tired and it was making his head hurt, and when he left the hospital in the morning Len was too groggy to withstand much more questioning. When Barry had attempted it, Len had just aggressively thumbed the button to pump more pain meds into his system and made a very dark joke about having to drill holes in himself more often. “Clearly it’s the only way to get the good drugs,” he’d said darkly, and then promptly gone back to sleep. Barry decided the safest thing to do was to leave him to it. 

On top of everything else, he’d had to call Felicity and call off her visit. That sucked, because he’s really been looking forward to it, but he couldn’t imagine trying to be an entertaining host  _ and  _ trying to figure out what the hell was going on with Leonard. Now he was at Joe’s, curled up on the touch trying not to fall asleep right there and then. Not that he was convinced he  _ could  _ fall asleep if it came to it. He kept seeing the ugly wound in Len’s side every time he closed his eyes.

“You look like crap,” Iris said, passing him the first half-decent mug of coffee he’d seen all day. 

“Thanks,” Barry said, and drained half the mug in one swallow. It certainly hit the spot; he couldn’t cling to the same level of exhaustion for long when all his taste buds were being scorched off. 

They were sitting on Joe’s couch, Barry still in the clothes he’d thrown on last night and Iris looking unfairly pristine. Barry was already fantasising about using Joe’s shower, which had way better water pressure than the one back at their apartment - but he needed to talk to Iris first. Gravely, he drank the rest of his coffee and set the mug down. Iris looked apprehensive.

“You need another one?”

“Nah, I’m good..” All those years working in Jitters had paid off, and Iris made a damn good cup of coffee, but any more caffeine and he’d be rocketing off the walls, and the speed-force gave him too much excess energy as it was. “I just need to talk to you.”

“What’s this about?” Iris asked, drawing her legs up onto the couch.

For a moment, all he could do was fidget; playing with a loose thread on his sweater, crossing and uncrossing his legs. Iris waited patiently for him to get a hold of himself, but he didn’t have all day. Hospital visit or not, Singh would have his ass if he didn’t get to work on time. His post-coma leniency had worn off remarkably quickly.

“It’s about Leonard. There’s something going on with him… I don’t know what it is.”

Iris frowned. “...Like what?” 

Barry hesitated. “I think he’s lying to me.”

“Lying? About what?” 

“I don’t know how he ended up in that hospital bed, but it sure can’t be for the reason he says it is. His story doesn’t add up. He says he walked into a drill? Maybe I would do something like that, but Len’s too careful. I don’t believe it for a second.”

Iris leaned forwards, frowning. “You think he was doing something else?”

“I don’t know what he was doing. But there’s one thing he seems to have forgotten.” Barry looked away. “I’m a forensic scientist. It’s my job to figure out what happened to people, and how they got hurt.” He looked back at Iris, his jaw set. “I know I’m used to looking at dead people, and dead people don’t usually get stitched up. But from where I’m standing, that wound in Len’s side looks a hell of a lot like a bullet hole.”

 

~*~

 

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thanks, Mick, I kind of figured that,” Len said irritably.

He gave the morphine button another jab, not that it would do him any good. The gibbon-faced nurse had threatened to cut him off if he kept pressing it, and it looked like she’d made good on that promise. Okay, maybe he didn’t really need  _ quite  _ as much morphine as he’d been flooding his system with, but it was the easiest way to avoid talking to people he’d rather avoid. The doctor who’d come to ask nosy questions about his injury, for example. Or Barry, who didn’t seem to be buying his admittedly rather shaky cover story. But really, what the hell was he supposed to say? What excuse would there be for a janitor to get shot in the side? Apart from  _ I guess I’m just a really shitty janitor,  _ which really didn’t seem like it would cut it.

Sat at his bedside, looking somewhat ridiculous in the rickety plastic seat, Mick was glaring at him. He looked like a sumo wrestler sitting in a dinky kindergarten chair. Len glared back.

“I don’t do hospitals,” Mick growled. “And since when did you need a doctor to stitch you up? We always used to take care of ourselves. You getting soft in your old age?”

Len ground his teeth. The next person to make a joke about his age was going to get thrown out of the window, and to hell with all the stitches he’d pull in the process. “You don’t think it might look a little suspicious if I come home to Barry with a gaping hole in my side that looks like a monkey tried to stitch it up?”

“Go fuck yourself, Snart. What’d you go getting shot for, anyway?”

“Just for shits and giggles, clearly,” Len snapped. “Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if you’d had my back.”

“I did have your back. I also had mine, and there was a really nice gun in the other room with my name on it. The guy who owned it wasn’t so keen to let it go.”

“So he shot me with it. Any reason why he didn’t shoot you instead?”

“I was holding his gun-arm,” Mick said, supremely unconcerned. “I was too busy pointing it away from me to bother checking that it wasn’t aimed at you.”

“You’re a bastard and I hate you.”

Mick ignored this. “Tell me you at least got the goods. It’d better have been worth it, if we’re going to be spending half the profit on funding your fucking medical bills.”

Len shifted slightly. “This job wasn’t so much financially profitable as...recreational.”

Bristling like an angry porcupine, Mick demanded, “You mean you didn’t get any money?”

In spite of himself - and also in spite of Mick, who appeared to be getting ready to finish the job that the gunman had started the night before - Leonard smirked. “I got something better. There’s a briefcase under the bed.”

Suspiciously, Mick got on the floor and started rummaging around under the bed. While he did so, Len leaned back and allowed himself a pained grimace. Usually at this stage in the recovery process he’d be either drunk or high, depending on whichever intoxicant he and Mick had most readily at their disposal, and too giddy to give a shit about anything. Unfortunately, his morphine had been cut off, the pain was beginning to set back in and it felt like someone carving a hole in his side, and he didn’t want Mick to see just how much pain he was in. Letting other people see your weakness was just asking for trouble. He had to be smug, self-assured, the cat who had the cream. The cat who would exchange a whole fucking lifetime of cream in return for some damn morphine. Crushing the remote in his hand, Len let out a litany of curse words in the back of his mind.

Eventually, Mick resurfaced with a grunt, holding the briefcase. The large and incredibly heavy briefcase.

“What the hell’s in this thing, rocks?” Mick demanded.

Len smirked. “Better. Open it.”

Scowling, Mick popped open the catches and flipped the lid. After a few seconds of staring, his eyebrows raised.

“What was that you were saying about guns?” Len asked smugly.

The briefcase contained two of S.T.A.R Labs’ recently pilfered pet projects. Two guns, one equipped with a cold chamber capable of emitting freezing rays, causing frostbite and stopping pretty much anything right in its tracks. One that was, in essence, a slightly more controllable flamethrower. 

One hot. One cold.


	14. Chapter 14

Len was released from the hospital a few days later, and Barry rather suspected that they were glad to see the back of him. Judging by the way the nurse glowered as she discharged him, he was lucky not to have been throttled with his own IV line.

He seemed oddly cheerful in spite of his injuries, which struck Barry as highly suspicious - but unfortunately, he didn’t have time to investigate. He barely had time to get Len settled back in at home, and call Mick to persuade him to come and play nurse. Then he was off again, in a rush as always. Sometimes he wished his life would just slow the fuck down.

When Barry arrived at the precinct that morning, breathless and harried, Singh took one look at him and immediately ordered him to leave again.  
  
"We've got a crime scene on the other side of town. Warehouse. Body's been there a few days, found by a civilian. Go check it out."   
  
Barry sped off, grateful for the distraction and the excuse to avoid Eddie, who was stuck doing paperwork. When he arrived, he ducked under all the yellow tape and got straight to work.

The body had been there for a few days at most, and was only slightly decomposed. Cause of death was, presumably, one of the many bullet holes that riddled his body. If Barry had to hazard a guess - and his guesses were usually pretty accurate - he'd say it was some kind of deal gone wrong. Drug deal, maybe.

He prepared to run the usual tests - analysis of the gunpowder and so on - while officers milled around and tried to stay out of his way. These kinds of crime scenes were fairly commonplace; the dealers got greedy and asked for too much money, or the buyer decided he wasn't so keen to part with his hard-earned cash, and things went sour. Barry shook his head as he scooped samples into test tubes and dodged out of the way as people photographed the body. _What a waste._   
  
He headed back to the lab to analyse the samples. All in all, a fairly uneventful day. On his lunch break, he literally ran into Eddie, which was mortifying. For a moment he thought Eddie was going to try and speak to him, so he mumbled something about a crime scene and _really behind_ and _you'll have to excuse me_ and then dodged out of the cafeteria without getting the bagel he'd been after. His stomach was not happy about that, but he figured it was better to be hungry than sit through a mortifying conversation as they both tried to pretend that Eddie didn’t know way too much about Barry’s sex life.   
  
Halfway through the afternoon, he got a call from S.T.A.R Labs.

Hey, man, what's up?" he asked, stirring samples around.  
  
"We got the results back on the DNA swabs you got off the door," said Cisco, "and we have a match on the CCPD database. We have our thief."   
  
"I'll come over," Barry said, and he zipped out of the office and down to the lab, making a mental note to send off the samples when he got back.   
  
Cisco, Caitlin and Dr. Wells were all waiting for him, gathered around a computer screen. Barry leaned over and was confronted by a headshot of a grumpy looking man with a pointy nose and not much hair. 

"Jensen Roby," Cisco said. "He's got a criminal record - petty crime, a few parking tickets - "  
  
"Suspected gun trafficking," Barry said quietly. 

"How'd you know that?"

"Because I had his records up on my computer this morning. This guy showed up dead at a crime scene today; I've spent half the day analysing his DNA. Looked like some kind of deal gone wrong; the buyer riddled him with bullets and then took the goods free of charge. By the looks of the scene there were a fair few people involved, but we only found one body."

"So our thief stole the cold gun, tried to sell it to the highest bidder, lost it and then conveniently died so we can't even track the buyer to find out where it went next." Wells' voice was cold.

Cisco fidgeted.  
  
Barry sighed. "Look," he said, "the cold gun  is a phenomenal piece of technology. People don't see something like that every day." Cisco had shown them the blueprints; the gun emitted a ray of energy way below zero, freezing anything it came into contact with. There was little reason for your average run of the mill criminal to want something like that… aside from the fact that it was flashy and one-of-a-kind. Criminal buzzwords, unfortunately. "Surely if someone starts waving it around, we'll hear about it. Someone will talk." He looked at Cisco. "Can you set up an alert app for it, the same way you did for the metas?"  
  
"Sure," said Cisco. "I'll get on that right away."  
  
"Don't worry," Barry said, although he didn't look at him. "Whoever has this gun probably doesn't have the good sense to keep their mouth shut about it. We'll find it. I know we will."

 

~*~

 

“I love this thing!"  
  
Mick stood a few feet away from a heap of faintly smoking detritus, his eyes glinting. For the past hour, he'd been putting his gun through its paces by burning everything in sight. Apparently he was more than satisfied; he kept giving it loving looks before finding something else to set alight. Len, meanwhile, was taking a more methodical approach. He started off by cooling the things that Mick had burned, then figuring out the effects of longer and shorter blasts. What he really wanted was a human test subject, but hauling in some stranger off the street merely for the purpose of shooting them seemed a little too ruthless, even for him.   
  
Even with his limited opportunities for testing the thing, he was pleased. He couldn't wait to take it apart and try and figure out how it worked, but he didn't think Barry would react too well if he came home and found bits of cold gun spread across the kitchen table.   
  
It felt so right in his hands. More powerful, more _impersonal_ than an ordinary gun. Any ordinary instrument of murder was inherently angry, but this was emotionless. Hard and cold. No gunpowder or explosions, just pure power seething beneath the surface.   
  
It was perfect.   
  
"When do we get to test 'em out?"   
  
"What exactly would you say you've been doing for the past hour?" Len asked, one eyebrow raised.   
  
"I like to burn stuff," Mick reminded him unnecessarily. "This is just practice. When are we gonna have some real fun?"   
  
"Soon," promised Len. "I _did_ have plans to go after the Kahndaq Dynasty diamond - that shiny rock that’s going on display in the Central City museum tomorrow - but unfortunately I’m not in the greatest shape…”

“So what? We just sit here?” Mick growled.

“Not my style,” Len reminded him. “No. I have plans, Mick, and now strikes me as an ideal time to start putting them into action. You recall our conversation about the Flash?”

“I remember you coming up with a crazy scheme that’s gonna get us both turned into meta-chow,” Mick said with a surly look on his face, but he had sat up a little straighter.

“It just so happens that Barry’s friend Iris is sweet on the Flash,” Len said, resting his hand on the barrel of his gun. “Writes herself a bunch of little articles about him. Now, she doesn’t know much, but she knows a damn sight more than anyone else we know. I figure that’s a good place to start.”

“So I have to just sit here while you play detective.”

“Nope,” said Len. “I like to do my research, remember? I have my lead, but in the interests of subtlety I’m gonna have to go it alone with this one. Your job is to find out who _else_ we should be talking to. The Flash hasn’t been around long, but he’s made an impressive amount of enemies over the past couple of weeks. Ask around. Try Saints and Sinners for starters, but if you get no dice, try scraping the bottom of the barrel. Be subtle about it. I don’t want any outsiders trying to muscle in on our operation.”

“You’re the boss,” Mick muttered. He paused. “Do I get to shoot anybody?”

Len shrugged. “If they don’t cooperate, sure. Knock yourself out.”

Smiling, Mick hefted his gun. Len ignored the throbbing sensation in his side and smiled right back. As much as he doubted anyone knew anything useful about the Flash, he had to start somewhere.

Now he just needed to figure out how to approach Iris about it.  


~*~

 

It was very rarely that Len ever wished he had more friends. He was perfectly content with his close-knit circle - Mick, Barry, and his train-wreck of a sister. Their group was small, select, and moderately bloodthirsty, and he liked it that way. But he had to admit it would have been a hell of a lot easier to squeeze some information out of Iris if they’d ever talked about anything other than the weather and Barry Allen.

Still, Len was nothing if not resourceful, and he wasn’t about to let social niceties get in the way of him finding out what he wanted to know. If he had to be pushy and insensitive, so be it.

He made his way very slowly across town to where the Wests lived. It was disgusting, how laborious his progress was, and he actually had to stop for a break a couple of times - but luckily, there weren’t many people out on the streets to watch him struggling.

Unfortunately, his luck ran out rather abruptly when he rang the doorbell of the West residence and Joe answered the door.

It was a good job that Len was adept at controlling his expression, otherwise he might have made a really awful face.

Joe did not share Len’s talent for concealing his feelings. He gave Len a contemptuous look, as if he had just done something disgustingly unpleasant. As far as Joe was concerned, Len’s entire existence was disgustingly unpleasant, so this was hardly surprising. Even so, it cheered him up. At least some things never changed.

“Joseph,” said Len. “Can I come in?”

“What do you want, Snart?”

Len couldn’t resist winding him up. “Is that any way to talk to your future son in law?”

The look of horror on Joe’s face was priceless. Not laughing was nearly impossible, but somehow Len managed it.

“Tell me you didn’t propose,” Joe said, appalled.

It had been intended as a jibe to wind him up, not to put the fear of God into him at the prospect of having a man he hated as a son in law, but Len was having too much fun to quit. “Not yet.”

“If you’re here to ask for his hand, you can’t have it.”

Len snorted. “Please, as if you could stop me. Anyway, I wouldn’t ask you. I’d ask Henry. He thinks I’m a very nice guy.”

Joe continued to glare at him, still hanging on to the door. Len wondered how he’d managed to derail the conversation this fucking badly. All he’d meant to do was wind Joe up a little.  “Look, I don’t believe in marriage. And even if I change my mind, it won’t be any time soon. Can I come in? ...I’m coming in.”

He slipped past before Joe could argue, making a beeline for the living room. Barging in, he happened upon Iris curled up on the sofa in her pyjamas. She jumped.

“Leonard! What are you doing here?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Joe said, storming in behind him.

Len ignored him. Fixing his attention on Iris, he said, “We need to talk.”

“What about?” Iris looked suspicious. “Is this about you and Barry’s issues in the bedroom?”

Joe choked. Len glowered. Damn Barry and his inability to lie well under pressure.

“Barry and I don’t _have_ any issues in the bedroom.”

“Well, that’s not what I heard. Maybe _you_ don’t have any - ”

“Iris,” Len said loudly, “I think it’s about time we have a little catch-up, _alone._ ” Barry would crucify him if he found out that Len had been gossiping about their sex life in Joe’s presence.

“Over my dead body,” said Joe. “I’m not leaving you two alone together. You might shoot her and bury her in the basement.”

“I wasn’t aware you _had_ a basement.”

“Look,” Iris said hastily, “why don’t I get dressed and meet you outside in a few minutes? I’d tell you to make yourself comfortable, if I trusted the two of you to get along.”

“Outside suits me just fine.” He could enjoy the thought of Joe simmering with rage while he lingered on the doorstep.

“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” Joe said loudly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I live with Barry; my ass is used to taking a pounding,” said Len, and then he made a swift retreat in case Joe really did decide to shoot him.

Iris got ready remarkably quickly, and joined him with an exasperated look that was so reminiscent of Barry that he almost laughed. Apparently they shared feelings about his relentless taunting of Joe. Well, it wasn’t as if the guy didn’t give as good as he got. He just preferred straight-up hostility to all the little barbs and innuendos that Len was so good at.

Together, the two of them walked to Jitters, Iris making occasional attempts to start a conversation that Len shut down immediately. He wasn’t here for small-talk, and he didn’t care to discuss business on the move. Iris took the hint fairly quickly, and was quiet until they got to the coffee shop, ordered - black coffee and doughnuts for Len, some fancy kind of tea and an enormous cookie for Iris - and situated themselves on a pair of opposing couches.

“What's this all about?" she asked.  
  
Len smiled disarmingly over his wine-glass. "Oh, just a bit of chit-chat between old friends."  
  
"We've never been friends, Leonard. We've… _tolerated_ each other, for Barry's sake, and sometimes I'd say we've even got along. But all we ever talked about was Barry." She looked at him suspiciously. " _Is_ this about Barry?"  
  
"Surprisingly not. Not everything in my life revolves around Barry. Neither does yours, for that matter... How's the journalism going?"  
  
Iris blinked. "Excuse me?"  
  
"I hear you've been quite the investigator. Tap-tap-tapping away, and all in pursuit of a single story." Len leaned in. "My sources tell me you're quite the expert on the guy they call The Flash."  
  
"Your sources." Iris looked unimpressed. "You mean Barry."  
  
"You do realise it's not all just constant mind-blowing sex between the two of us; we do talk to each other once in a while, too."  
  
"Please don't ever mention you, Barry and ‘mind-blowing sex’ in the same sentence ever again," said Iris. "Why were you talking about me, anyway?"  
  
"Barry talks an awful lot, and you matter to him. When it's not you, or Joe, it's Cisco, or Caitlin, or Doctor Wells... Sometimes I listen." Len lounged back in his seat and pretended to be examining the contents of his wine glass. “Those articles of yours are pretty interesting.”

“Cut the crap, Leonard. I’m not going to act like I understand a single thing that goes on inside that head of yours, but I know you well enough to know that whatever this is, it isn’t a cosy chit-chat. What do you want?”

Len smiled. He had to give it to Iris; she had steel running through her. Not many people would have had the gall to speak to him like that. He didn’t mind; it saved time. If there was one thing Len appreciated, it was directness.

“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in our city’s Scarlet Speedster,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why do you?” he countered.

Iris hesitated - only for a split second, but the hesitation was there. “He’s a hero. I want more people to know about him. To appreciate him.”

“Liar.”

Her expression hardened. “It’s a breaking news story and I want to be the first to cover it. What better foothold into the industry than being the one who tells the world about the Flash?”

“Still lying,” Len said, looking boredly into his glass. “You’ll have to get a lot better at it if you want to fool me.” He looked up. “Do us both a favour and stop trying.”

Iris folded her arms. “I don’t know,” she said flatly. “He’s caught my attention. I want to know who he is and why he does what he does. I want to know _how_. It’s all I can think about.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Len said.

“So why do _you_ care about him?” Iris demanded.

“I have my reasons. I don’t think they’re ones you’d like. Let’s just say I have a personal interest in finding out who he is, and I might know a few people who’d be willing to spill some details. People who’ve met him. People he’s caught. Victims, you might call them.”

“The Flash is a hero,” Iris said. “He doesn’t have victims.”

Len smirked. “It depends on who you talk to. You interview the guys he's punched and pummelled and had put away, and they might not think he’s so great.” He leaned back a little. “Either way, I might know a few people who’d be willing to talk. Help you tie up some loose ends. Get another perspective, if you will.”

“Why would you do that?”

“We’ll compare notes. You tell me what you know, and I’ll find you some people who might know some things you _don’t_ know. They’re all pieces of the same puzzle.”

“And you want what? A cut of the money I get for writing the article?”

“So suspicious,” Len tutted. “I don’t want your money. I just want to know who the Flash is.” He drained his wine glass in one go and placed it carefully on the table without taking his eyes off her. “So. Do we have a deal?”

Iris made no response. She just watched him across the table with wary eyes. Len sat back and waited, knowing full well that silence in itself was an excellent manipulation tactic.

Eventually, she folded her arms. “Fine. Deal.”

“Knew I could count on you,” Len said, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast.

“Don’t push it, Leonard. I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, no matter what Barry says.”

“That’s fair. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

"Since we're playing honesty hour," said Iris, "are you gonna tell me how you really got that gaping hole in your side?"  
  
Len didn't react, although the aforementioned injury started throbbing as if in protest. He kept his expression blank. Damn bullet wound had been giving him more trouble than he thought; he couldn't very well test out his new gun when he could barely move without downing half a bottle of pills to numb the pain first. And now Barry and his little friends were playing detective on top of everything else. 

"Freak accident," he said. "Got attacked by a rogue drill attachment. Some idiot left the machinery running. Some other idiot walked into it. ...That was me,” he  added conspiratorially.  
  
"That's what Barry said. Except I don't buy it, and neither does he. For such a smart guy, Leonard, you're pretty damn stupid. If you're gonna lie about a suspicious entry wound, don't lie to a CSI. It's Barry's _job_ to look at bullet-holes, and he knows damn well you didn't walk into a malfunctioning drill attachment. He won't come to you and demand a straight answer, but I will. And if you won't give me one, then maybe you'll be a little more honest with the police once I put them on the case."

Len could have called her bluff - the CCPD would have little interest in a bullet wound that he had no intention of reporting - but he just looked at her. His smile didn't falter. Iris was clever. Not as clever as she thought she was, but smart enough to be a nuisance. A suspicious wound might not grab the CCPD's attention, but his name mentioned in the wrong ears or tapped into a little database could dredge up all sorts of unpleasantness he could do without.  
  
"Have you ever considered minding your own business?"  
  
"I'm a journalist; it's not in my nature."  
  
"Clearly." He leaned back in his seat. “Fine. You wanna know how I got it? I’ll give you the unedited version, but you’re not gonna like it.” He took a sip of coffee, then said lazily, “I gamble.”

Iris’ brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You know, you think something will happen, you place a bet on the outcome…”

“Yeah, I know what gambling means, Leonard. I just don’t see how it’s relevant to this conversation.”

“I’m sure it won’t surprise you to hear that I have some somewhat unscrupulous friends. I spend a fair amount of my time hanging out in the shady side of town. Sometimes, when I’m there, I like to play cards. Poker, mostly. If I’ve got some spare cash, I’ll have a little wager on the outcome. It’s all harmless fun and games, but sometimes things go south.” Len paused, took another sip while he judged her reaction, and then carried on. “The other night, I was having myself a couple of games with some guy I’ve never met before. I won almost all of them, naturally.”

“Were you cheating?”

Len gave her a scornful look at the very idea that he might _not_ have been cheating. “That’s neither here nor there. Anyway, he was also cheating. Badly. Either way, it was getting late, he was running low on luck and money, so I decided to call it a night. I asked him to pay up, and he declined. I told him I’d have to insist, so he pulled a gun on me and decided to try to persuade me to write off the debt. As you can imagine, it was a pretty convincing argument.”

“He shot you?” Iris said, appalled. “How much money did he owe you?”

Len shrugged, the stitches in his side tugging unpleasantly. “Couple hundred bucks. It was a _very_ shady part of town.”

“Why didn’t you report it to the police?”

“I’m not too fond of cops,” Len reminded her. “And I dare say the CCPD wouldn’t look too kindly on some of my own activities that night. Gambling away your hard-won money in a seedy bar downtown may not be strictly illegal, but it’s probably frowned upon.”

He sat back and waited to see if she would buy it. The entire story was, of course, an enormous pack of lies with a generous sprinkling of bullshit on top, but it was a damn sight more convincing than the crap he’d come up with about the malfunctioning drill attachment. Even with blood pouring from his side and two experimental weapons in a suitcase under the bed, he ought to have been able to come up with something better than that. It was a little embarrassing.

Iris had stopped looking suspicious and started to look disapproving. Len felt a rush of satisfaction, but didn’t let it show. She was gonna buy it.

“And why exactly is it that you haven’t told any of this to Barry?”

“You seriously think he’d ever be able to sleep at night again if he knew I was out gambling of an evening? Add getting shot at into the equation and he’d probably chain me to the sofa. How would you handle it if you found out Eddie was out playing poker with the dregs of society every couple of weeks?”

Iris frowned. “Well, if the shady card sharps didn’t shoot him, I sure would. Hm. I see your point. But you’ve gotta tell him something, the poor guy’s going out of his mind trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“I’ll talk to him,” promised Len. Apparently Barry was a little more suspicious than Len had given him credit for. Smart kid. Len was proud of him, if a little frustrated that he was going to have to come up with another lie. After all, he couldn’t tell _Barry_ that he was a gambler. If there was one thing Len disliked, it was complicated plans - he liked to have stepping stones, A to B to C, and having multiple cover stories to remember was a pain in the ass. But needs must.

“You’d better.” She paused. “Okay, this is going to sound a little ridiculous, given what I just said. But...please don’t tell Barry about this. He’s not a big fan of all this metahuman stuff; he doesn’t really like me writing about it. I don’t wanna upset him…”

“ _Barry_ doesn’t like it?” That was bizarre. He’d have thought Barry would eat this shit up. Speedsters and superheroes and all that insanity; he should have been falling over himself with excitement. But come to think of it, he _hadn’t_ heard Barry gushing about the Flash. The one time Len had mentioned the speedster, Barry had swerved so hard around the subject that he’d lost all pretence at subtlety. At the time Len had assumed he was just excited about dinner, but…

Hm. Interesting. Maybe he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

“Well, it’s hard for him,” said Iris, tearing pieces off her cookie and popping them into her mouth. “He’s been making a determined effort lately to put his mom’s murder behind him - including all the crazy stuff he used to believe in. That’s a good chunk of his life that he’s trying to move past. Now that there’s evidence that some of it could actually be real, it’s only going to get more difficult.”

Given the amount of time Len had spent at the CCPD recently, sifting through old case files about Nora Allen’s murder, he was fairly certain Barry was doing the exact opposite of moving on. Considering that she was Barry’s best friend, Iris didn’t seem to know much about what was going on in his head. Still, he didn’t react.

“Oh, and don’t tell my dad either,” Iris warned, pointing a piece of cookie at him.

Len snorted. “Do I look like an idiot? Trust me. This is between you and me.”

“Make sure it stays that way,” she said severely. “And talk to Barry. Jesus.”

“You know,” said Len, “sometimes you really remind me of my sister.”

Iris considered for a moment. “You know what? I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“Trust me,” Len said. “You should.”

 

~*~

 

When Len let himself into the apartment later that evening, he thought for one bizarre moment that he might have walked through the wrong door.

Every available surface - including much of the floor - was covered in candles, all in varying shapes and sizes, their flames flickering. The lights were dimmed, so that the room was illuminated with a gentle glow, casting soft shadows around. Bewildered, Len moved forwards into the room, just in time to get an excellent view of Barry’s ass, where he was bent over lighting the last couple of candles.

Len leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the view. In tight jeans and a baggy shirt, Barry made one hell of a pretty sight. As Len watched, Barry straightened up, blew out the match he was holding, and then turned to look over his shoulder.

When their eyes met, Barry’s hand immediately jumped to his hair. Sheepishly, he took a step back. Underneath the checked shirt, he wore a loose t-shirt, soft from a few too many washes. He looked inhumanly beautiful in the candlelight, and Len found himself softening in a way that was most unbecoming for a crook.

“Did you rob a candle factory, Scarlet?”

“Do you like it?” Barry asked hopefully. Then, hurriedly, “It’s too much, isn’t it? I had a feeling, but I just wanted - I thought - you know, I wanted to do something...nice. What do you think?”

Len carefully closed the door behind him, trying to avoid a draught. A few of the flames flickered, but none of them went out. “Fire isn’t really my thing. If it was Mick you were trying to seduce, that would be a different matter.”

“Oh,” Barry said, crestfallen.

Len crossed the room in a few strides, slipped his hands underneath the billowing fabric of Barry’s overshirt and let them rest lightly on his hips. The warmth of his body radiated through his t-shirt.

“Fire may not be my thing, but it’s still beautiful,” Len said. “...Like you.”

Blushing, Barry ducked his head. He couldn’t quite hide his smile. Len found himself smiling back, wondering when he’d turned into such a sap. If someone had told him two years ago that one day he’d be stood embracing a guy ten years his junior in a candlelit apartment, he’d have scoffed and probably shot them for stupidity alone. Funny how things turned out.

“So what’s the occasion?”

Barry shrugged. “I dunno. Felt like surprising you. We had such a great time when you took me out the other night, I thought it might be nice to return the favour.”

“By turning our apartment into a candle factory?”

“It was supposed to be romantic,” he mumbled.

“You’re cute,” Len said, rubbing his thumb against Barry’s hip-bone, feeling the gentle slope of bone through the fabric. “It was very thoughtful, Barry, thank you.” Shrugging off the parka, he hung it on the rack, saying, “So what’s for dinner?”

“Well,” Barry said, “we both know I’m not the greatest cook…”

Len smirked. Barry wasn’t a _bad_ cook, but he was a basic one. Then again, anyone would have looked like a novice beside Len, who could have put ‘excellent chef’ on a level with ‘criminal, thief and liar’ on his resume.

“I thought about making you something,” said Barry, “but I also figured… why tempt fate?”

Bending down, he pulled two pizza boxes from behind the sofa and held them up with an adorable grin.

“You,” said Len, “are my favourite human being.”

“Yeah,” said Barry, sitting at the table with a satisfied expression. “I know.”

 

~*~

 

Len was on his third slice of pizza by the time he realised that Barry was trying to soften him up.

It should have been obvious; he felt a pinch of irritation for not having figured it out sooner. The candles, the pizza... but it wasn't until Barry pulled a bottle of wine from underneath the table that Len realised he was being taken for a ride. 

He kept smiling across the table, as if he were none the wiser. Oh, the kid was smart, and he knew how to manipulate Len all too well. It was embarrassing, letting himself be caught off-guard by a little wining and dining - though he’d have been more pissed if he hadn’t used the same trick on Barry more times than he could count.

 _Using my own tricks against me,_ he thought. _Nice work._

Eventually, the final slice of pizza sat between them, and with it, the very last scrap of pretence. And even that was lost, when Barry pushed it across the table with a smile.

“It’s all yours. I’m not hungry.”

“Okay,” said Len, “are you going to tell me what’s going on now, or are we going to keep screwing around?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t bullshit me. If you’ve got something to say to me…” Len leaned back in his seat. “Shoot.”

In hindsight, maybe he should have restrained himself from making a pun. Barry’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine,” he said. “You’re right. I have questions, and I want answers. No more evasions, Leonard. The truth, this time.”

“Ooh, _Leonard_ ,” Len said mockingly. “So we’re breaking out the first names now? Go on then, _Bartholomew_ \- what exactly is it you want to ask me?”

“You didn’t walk into a drill attachment,” Barry said, looking him in the eye. “I’m a CSI. I know what a bullet wound looks like.”

The room grew very still. Len didn’t blink. He didn’t try to deny it either.

He’d expected more anger, but once again Barry surprised him. His expression softened. Lowering his voice, he said, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Len didn’t like where this was going.

“I love you,” said Barry. “More than anything. If there’s something you want to tell me… you know I’ll listen. I’ll stand by you. No matter what. If you’re in some kind of trouble…”

“Trouble,” Len repeated.

Barry swallowed. “Look… I’ve never asked you about this. It doesn’t matter to me, you know that. But I know that you have previous. Some kind of criminal record. I know it isn’t any of my business, and I know you’ve moved past it - but if you were… mixed up in anything…”

That was when Len saw his way out.

“I see,” he said acidly. “Once a criminal, always a criminal, is that right?”

Startled, Barry said, “What? No, I -”

“I might not always have been the scrupulous type,” Len said, his voice hard, “but I fixed that. I got a job, and I turned my back on that crap, I already told you. But you don’t believe me, hmm? Because you’re a good little cop who’d never do anything wrong, and I’m just a criminal screw-up, just like everybody keeps telling you.”

“You know I didn’t - ”

“I was robbed,” said Len.

Barry blinked. “What?”

“I was on my way home from work and some asshole pulled a gun on me,” said Len. “Ordered me to head over to an ATM and clean out my account. I thought I was being smart, so I tried to get the jump on him, and that was when he put a bullet in me. But of course, you’d sooner believe that I was the gunman.”

“Len, no! I - why didn’t you just _tell_ me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry,” Len hissed. “You’ve already got enough to deal with. You think I haven’t noticed that you’re not sleeping? Having nightmares, muttering to yourself in the middle of the night? You’re losing weight, your appetite’s all over the place. You’re fighting with Iris, fighting with Wally, being Doctor Wells’ lab rat - you think I wanted to put that on your shoulders along with everything else? I know you, Barry. If I told you somebody attacked me you wouldn't sleep for a week - or have you forgotten the way you reacted the last time there was a weapon anywhere near you?"

He monitored Barry’s expression very carefully in the moments that followed. Everything was riding on this. If Barry called him on his bullshit, then he had no other options up his sleeve. Len’s heart raced and his mouth was dry, but he kept his gaze locked onto Barry’s, waiting for the moment when the story clicked… or it didn’t.

Barry buried his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

When he looked up, his eyes were wet. Relief flooded Len’s veins like adrenaline.

He had him.

“I’m just such a mess lately,” said Barry, blinking back the tears. “Ever since the coma, my life has been different. I was so scared things were going to change between us as well. You’re the only one I can trust not to lie to me, Len.”

A better man than Leonard Snart would have felt at least a little ashamed of himself. All Len felt was cool satisfaction.

“I was trying to protect you, Barry,” he said, reaching out to hold Barry’s hand.

Barry locked their fingers together. “I know,” he said. “But I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to be honest. I need to know that there’s at least one person who’s going to have my back.” He exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I just… you don’t even wanna know the kinds of places my mind was going.”

“Probably not,” said Len. He gave a very small smile.

Wearily, Bary slipped his hand free. “I think I’m going to lie down.”

“You want some company?”

“Yeah,” Barry said. “That would be nice.”

“I’ll make you some cocoa,” Len said. “You go get some rest. Try not to worry, Scarlet. It’s always going to be you and me, remember?”

“Yeah,” said Barry as he got up from the table. “You and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len is the WORST jshdsgdgh
> 
> sorry for the lateness of this chapter, i was getting ready to post and then i realised that i never actually finished this chapter and there was a HUGE plot hole for me to fix - thanks, past me!


	15. Chapter 15

Sometimes, Barry’s life got so weird and surreal that he forgot he was actually allowed to have a _normal_ life on the sideline.

This situation wasn’t really _normal_ , but maybe it could be his _new_ normal. Iris and Eddie had invited him out for drinks, the first time he’d seen them both together since the mortifying dinner party that he was trying to block out of his memory piece by piece. (The aftermath, he was all too happy to remember - just not himself hopping dementedly around the apartment with a vibrating plug in his ass.) Unable to face the prospect of looking them both in the eyes for an entire evening without spontaneously combusting with shame, Barry had invited Cisco and Caitlin along. Luckily, everybody seemed to be getting along swimmingly. Eddie was roasting them all at darts, while Caitlin ogled. Iris was glowing with happiness, bubbly as always. They all downed shots at frequent intervals. There was the occasional sticky moment when Eddie or Iris asked questions about Cisco and Caitlin’s work at S.T.A.R Labs, which neither of them knew how to answer - but their clumsy deflections were accepted without comment. No one wanted to linger on the particle accelerator explosion tonight. The night was clear and temperate, the bar welcoming, and the drinks plentiful. It was a perfect evening.

Aside from the fact that Barry was six shots down and still couldn’t feel a thing.

In itself, this wasn’t a problem. He hadn’t come out with the intention of getting drunk - although he had briefly considered it when Iris and Caitlin vanished for a bathroom break and Cisco was getting more drinks, leaving him alone with Eddie. But everyone else was at least pleasantly buzzed; Caitlin kept giggling and touching his arm, Iris was hanging off Eddie with a goofy grin on her face, and Cisco’s words were slightly slurred.

And Barry was sat on the barstool sober as a judge, his mouth full of the sour, sticky taste of the alcohol and his bloodstream stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it.

To be sure, he went back up to the bar for more shots. Studiously ignoring the judgemental looks the bartender gave him as he measured them out, Barry paid up and carried the tray back to the table where Cisco and Caitlin were sitting. Eddie was showing off his prowess at darts - and his incredible arms, which Barry was absolutely not looking at - while Iris hovered at his side, trying valiantly to put him off his game.

Barry seized the opportunity to say, “Guys, I think I have a problem.”

“Yeah,” said Cisco, eyeing the tray full of shots. “If all those are for you, I’d say that’s a reasonable assumption.” He swiped a shot off Barry’s tray and downed it. “It’s for your own good, man. You’re gonna give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“That’s just it: I don’t think I can,” said Barry.

He snatched the remaining shots and downed them all in rapid succession, too fast for his friends’ eyes to follow, one after the other. They burned disgustingly on the way down, but the burn never reached his stomach the way it ought to. It seared the back of his throat, burned his tastebuds, and completely dissipated before it had any actual effect on the state of his sobriety.

He’d had his suspicions back at that disastrous party when he’d met Wally for the first time, horrifyingly sober in spite of all his friends and work colleagues plying him with drinks, but this confirmed it. There was no getting away from it now. Not after seven consecutive shots and a good hour and a half of solid drinking before that.

“I can’t get drunk,” Barry said, horrified. He lowered the last shot-glass back to the table. “I’m twenty-five. I should be going out every night getting wasted, rolling in at 3am with vomit on my shoes. I can’t go teetotal in my twenties!”

“Dude, Leonard would crucify you if you ever came home with puke shoes.”

“Not the point, Cisco!” hissed Barry. “I’ve been drinking all night and I’m still sober. Do you know how much money I just wasted? I may as well have been drinking tap water.”

“It must be your metabolism!” Caitlin said, grabbing his arm. Apparently being tipsy had by no means lessened her enthusiasm for medical science. “Your body is absorbing the alcohol before it can take effect, it’s incredible. I need to take a sample.” She started rooting around in her purse.

“I’ll get more shots!” Cisco said, and bustled away to do just that.

“I gotta tell you, Caitlin, getting stuck with a needle isn’t exactly my idea of a fun night out,” Barry said weakly as Caitlin grabbed his hand, wiped the surface of his finger with an antiseptic wipe and then pulled out a blood-testing kit, the tiny needle already out and gleaming. He wasn’t even going to _question_ why she was carrying that kind of medical apparatus around in her purse.

“Well I gotta tell _you_ that this is a fascinating development in our investigations into your biochemistry, and also the most fun I’ve had all night,” said Caitlin. “It sure beats staring at Eddie Thawne’s ridiculously attractive face and moping about how I’ll be alone forever, so hold still - ”

Before she could stick him with the needle, however, Eddie hurried towards their table with his phone out. Caitlin hurriedly swept the kit back into her purse and out of sight.

“Work just called; someone set off a bomb downtown, they need all hands on deck,” said Eddie. “I’m sorry, guys, I’m gonna have to go. We’ll do this again another night!”

And with that he swept out in a hurry, leaving Barry to exchange meaningful looks with Cisco and Caitlin. He needed to make a quick retreat of his own, but Iris was -

“Iris, where are you going?” asked Caitlin.

Midway through throwing on her jacket, Iris froze.

“Huh? Oh! I think I might get an early night too, I’m exhausted! All those articles won’t write themselves! I’m gonna get home, and go to bed, goodnight!” She seized her purse and hurried off in pursuit of Eddie.

“Yeah, me too, gosh, so tired!” Barry said, feigning an enormous yawn until the split second Iris had vanished through the door, at which point he gave another look at Cisco and Caitlin and then sprinted out the back way, out into a mercifully empty alleyway.

Then he sped off to S.T.A.R Labs to retrieve the suit.

 

~*~

When Barry arrived at the bombsite, he didn’t know where to look first. The blast had left a smell in the air not dissimilar to burning hair, there were flames licking the horizon even as fingers of smoke clawed at the sky, as if some flaming beast were trying to fight free of the wreckage. Cops were yelling, trying to keep people back from the scene. Blue and red lights flashed everywhere, sirens screaming. The residual heat from the blast was incredible; it had torn a huge hole in the building.

And then he saw the man dangling from the side of the building, the apparatus that held him only hanging on by a thread. 

Barry’s heart jolted unpleasantly.

“Guys!” he shouted, skidding to a stop. “There’s a guy - he’s hanging off the side of the building, I think he’s gonna fall! What should I do?”

“Don’t even think about trying to catch him, for starters,” warned Cisco.

In the background of the call, Barry could still hear the sound of chatter, of clinking glasses and raised voices as people milled around inside the bar. Strange to think that life was still going on around him, that there were people just living and existing while this catastrophe was occurring and a man’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

“If he falls on you from that height, you’re gonna snap like a twig,” said Cisco.

“Well can I - I don’t know, get some mattresses or something for him to land on?”

“Barry,” Caitlin said exasperatedly, “this isn’t a cartoon!”

“Well then what do you expect me to do?” He floundered for a moment. “Wait. How fast would I have to go to run up the side of the building?”

“ _What_?” cried Caitlin, but Cisco was already muttering feverishly, barely audible in the comms as he did calculations.

Barry couldn’t take his eyes off the man, who was swinging like a spider hanging from a disintegrating web. “Guys, we don’t have time to do the math, how _fast_ \- ”

“Look, it doesn’t matter - just go _fast_ , Barry, and you have to maintain your speed on the way down!” ordered Caitlin.

“Or what?”

“...Or the two of you are gonna end up decorating the pavement,” she said.

“Splat,” Cisco added helpfully.

Great. Encouraging.

Barry didn’t have time to dwell on their terrible pep talks now, though. He took a run-up, sprinted, and ran full-pelt at the building.

It felt so wrong seeing it rush towards him, for a moment he thought he was going to slam into it face-first, but then he lifted his foot and then he was sprinting _up_ the building, wind blasting him in the face, his heart slamming disjointedly against his ribcage. All he could focus on was keeping his momentum in spite of the awful sensation of all of that nothingness at his back, empty air waiting for him to falter and fall.

He snatched the guy free of the apparatus just as the last thread of metal snapped and the container started to fall. Then he was spinning, whipping around without breaking stride, sprinting back for the ground. It rushed sickeningly back up to meet him, the wind making his cheeks billow ridiculously he found himself laughing breathlessly at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and then his feet met solid ground. He sprinted a few more metres to get clear of the falling debris which crashed to the ground and splintered into a mess of jagged metal wire, and then he skidded to a halt and carefully placed the worker back on his feet. The man was a very sickly colour, and he staggered back a few feet before retching spectacularly on the sidewalk. Gross. Barry edged away from him slightly.   
  
Still, aside from a lot of shock and the fact that he was puking his guts up, the guy seemed unharmed. Barry turned to leave, and found him face to face with Iris, who was standing several feet away with a look of awe on her face. 

Barry froze. He had the good sense to start vibrating, blurring out his features behind the mask; she knew him so well that she might have been able to see past it. Relying on the vibrations and the poor lighting to keep his identity safe, he watched Iris warily.

Mouth hanging open, Iris took a step towards him. She looked so beautiful, illuminated from the inside out, glowing with happiness. Barry wanted so badly to hug her - to pull the mask off and let her see him, and watch that joyous wonder blossom into incredulity when she realised it was him. It was all him.

  
Iris was grinning like a fool; it was infectious. He found himself grinning back, mirroring her happiness the way he always had. Even as kids they'd bounced off each other, amplifying each other's emotions, stoking the good and soothing the bad. It made him feel warm inside to see her reduced to a beaming fool, so delighted that the smile on her face must have been making her cheeks ache.

And then Barry came to his senses.  
  
He shot past Iris like a bullet, ruffling her hair. She gave a sharp intake of breath as he passed her, and then he was several blocks away, running with his head down, astonished at himself.  
  
He should have run away the second he clapped eyes on her, before she got a good look at him. With his face blurred and covered up, there was no way she could have recognised him, but still. It had been a close thing. He was shaking all over. Up until now he hadn't realised how badly he wanted to share this with her.  
  
He'd always shared  _everything_ with Iris. She was the first person he'd told about everything that had ever mattered to him - before Len came along. But that was different. A new kind of dynamic.

  
Iris had been the first to hear when Barry's first tooth fell out, after weeks of impatiently prodding it with his tongue. He held it in his closed fist and then showed it to her, gleaming in the palm of his hand like a tiny pearl. Iris had grinned at him with her own spectacularly gappy grin, and from that moment on things had only spiralled. He showed her the dead bird he found a few blocks from his house; they both agreed it was gross, but had spent ages prodding it with sticks regardless, with ghoulish interest. She confessed when she ate a grape off the floor in the mall, and was scared she might go to prison for it. And it only escalated from there.

Barry stood guard while Iris had her first kiss behind the science block at school; she was the first person he told about his sexuality, hidden under the duvet in her bed while he held her hands and didn't dare look her in the eye. He was the first to know that she'd lost her virginity, which he did and didn't want to know in equal measure (on one hand, ew; on the other, what was it like?) They were each other's lifeline, throughout first boyfriends and first heartbreaks and everything in between. Iris was the first person he'd complained to about his new asshole of a roommate, and the first to gently prod him into admitting that okay, Leonard was hot. And okay, maybe Barry kind of liked him even though he was a dick. And okay, he was head over heels in love with the guy, and what was he supposed to do now, and why did nobody ever like him back?  
  
Until the coma, he'd never kept secrets from Iris. It was somehow worse than keeping secrets from Leonard. Sure, he could tell Len anything, and he knew there would be a mostly non-judgmental ear to hear him out. But there had been a period of time when they had kept things from one another - their feelings, primarily. As much as he lay awake at night turning things over and over his mind, trying to decide whether or not to tell, he didn't get this same jarring feeling that he did when he kept something from Iris.

He slowed to a stop on a deserted backroad, pulled his cowl down and buried his face in his hands. Running his fingers through his hair, he took a deep breath.  
_  
_ _You can't tell her,_ he told himself. 

_"Barry? Did you do it, did you save him?"_   
"Yeah, the guy's fine," said Barry. "Look, I've gotta go drop off the suit and then I think I'm gonna go home. I'll catch you guys later, okay?"   
  
And before they could object, he switched off his comms and sped off back to the lab.   


~*~

 

Len was lazing on the couch when the call came in. Barry was out with his friends, a whole little cosy group of them - the nerds from the lab, and power couple of the century: Eddie and Iris. Len had been bracing himself for an invitation he’d been intending to refuse - the dinner party had been tolerable, even fun, considering the perks of having a sex toy buzzing in Barry’s ass the entire time, but he didn’t think Barry would let him get away with it in a bar. Besides which, on their own, he found both Cisco Ramon and Eddie Thawne tolerable, but put two abominably cheerful golden-retriever types together in the same room and he might actually be tempted to shoot himself. And Caitlin Snow _loathed_ him. She wasn’t subtle about it. Len knew Barry would spend the entire night trying to persuade them to make friends, and who had time for that, these days?

No, he was perfectly content at home, nursing a beer with the TV turned down low onto some inane hospital drama, a plastic body sliced open with innards glistening like jelly. He wasn’t really watching. His mind was far away. The Flash had been laying low for a few days - no sightings, blurry photographs, not even the whisper of a rumour. This wasn’t uncommon; Flash activity tended to fluctuate in a way not dissimilar to his own. Periods of inactivity, and then times when he would be spotted several times a night. Typically just when Len had buckets full of free time and an annoying wound to recuperate from, the guy would decide to take a bit of a break.

Tearing his gaze away from the on-screen gore, Len was contemplating switching off the TV and grabbing a book instead when his phone started ringing.

He expected it to be Barry, happy-drunk and babbling loving nonsense down the phone - although come to think of it, it had been a while since he’d known the kid to get drunk. Never much of a party animal, Barry had nevertheless seemed to cut out drinking completely over the past few weeks. Maybe more mundane medical advice from that crashing bore Snow. But when Leonard checked the caller ID, he found Iris West’s name flashing up on his screen. No contact photo, just a generic silhouette. 

He answered immediately. “What happened? Is Barry all right?”

“What? Yeah, he’s fine, I left him at the bar.”

“You left him?” Leonard’s brain immediately supplied him with a whole host of unpleasant scenarios, all of which involved Barry collapsing alone in a drunken heap in the middle of a bar. “ _Alone_?”

“He’s with Cisco and Caitlin, relax. You act like his mother,” Iris said dismissively. She was quite clearly a little bit intoxicated herself. “Look, this is important. I saw the Flash.”

Len hadn’t even realised he was getting up until he was already out of his seat, gripping the phone so tightly that the plastic creaked in protest. “You saw him? Where?”

“There was an incident downtown, some kind of bombing. Eddie got called out to handle it; I followed, I had a feeling the Flash might show. And he did.” Her excitement was palpable, trickling through the phone. Len’s heart raced; he almost felt like he was there with her. “It was incredible, Leonard. He ran up a _building._ Right up the side, and he grabbed this guy who was about to fall off this scaffolding, and ran him right back down. And then he stopped, and I saw him. I swear to god he looked right at me.”

“You get a good look at his face?” Len demanded.

“No, it was all blurry. Like it was out of focus.”

“Exactly how much have you had to drink?” he asked disapprovingly. For all he knew, maybe she hadn’t seen the Flash at all. Snatching the remote off the couch, Len started flicking feverishly through the local news channels. If there really _had_ been a bombing, it wouldn’t be long before it was on TV.

“Hardly anything,” Iris said, “just a couple of shots, and I _know_ I saw him. I think he was doing it on purpose - blurring his face so I couldn’t get a good look at him.”

“You get any identifying features? Anything?”

“I told you, his face was all blurry, and it was dark. I couldn’t see.” She paused. Then, “I think he _smiled_ at me.”

Len rolled his eyes so hard that they actually ached a little. He’d never known her to sound so girlish. She was talking about the Flash like a teenage girl with a crush, not like a reporter. He was an _asset,_ a potential weapon to exploit, not a teen heart-throb. The urge to snap at her was unreal.

“Yes, but what did he _look_ like?”

“Tall,” said Iris. “White. He’s pretty skinny, he wears this tight red suit. Looks like leather, but it can’t be. It wouldn’t be anywhere near flexible enough for someone who moves as quickly as he does. He has this kind of emblem on his chest, like a lightning bolt.”

Leonard closed his eyes. God, why hadn’t he gone with them to the stupid bar? He could have taken his new gun, could have taken out the Flash right there and then. And then…

And then the guy would wake up, escape with ease, and probably beat the shit out of him into the bargain. Rubbing his eyes, Len cursed silently to himself. Even if he couldn’t have actually done anything against the red bastard, he still wished he could have seen him for himself. The closest look he’d ever got at the Flash was at the back of his head as he dangled some mad scientist out of a top-floor window.

“This changes everything,” Iris said. “We need to talk about this, how soon can you meet me?”

As much as Len wanted to interrogate her further and get every snippet of information about the Flash - god, he wished Iris were a crook; she didn’t have that searching look that could take in all the details in a split second, the way his could, casing a person the same way he’d case a joint - it was late, and he couldn’t really see the benefit in rushing to some rendezvous to listen to her tipsily babble about the way the Flash had _smiled at her_.

And then he heard the sound of Barry’s key in the lock and his decision was cemented.

“I can’t talk right now,” he said curtly. “It’s late. We’ll figure something out tomorrow; I’ll come and see you when I can. Goodnight.”

He hung up just as Barry emerged from the doorway, dishevelled and pink-cheeked from the cold.

“Who was that?”

“Colleague,” Len said smoothly, sliding the phone into his pocket. With his free hand, he grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “No way of getting those bastards off my back. Did you have a good night?”

“Yeah, it was...eventful.” Barry crossed the room to kiss him. “Eddie got called out halfway through to help handle some kind of terrorist attack; someone set a bomb off downtown. Iris decided to get an early night, and things kind of disintegrated after that. I expect I’ll be called in tomorrow to check it out.”

“As long as they didn’t blow up Big Belly Burger,” Len said. “Or Jitters. Nowhere else in this damn city makes decent coffee.”

“Your junk food cravings are safe, don’t worry,” Barry said, shrugging out of his coat. “It was some kind of office building. Weird place to set off a bomb. I expect I’ll hear more about it tomorrow.”

“Best get an early night, then, if you’re gonna get called into the lab at some ungodly hour. I know you need your beauty sleep.”

“Mm,” Barry agreed. “I _am_ kind of tired. I’m just gonna grab a snack before we turn in. Caitlin’s really riding my ass about this new diet plan. Carbs, carbs, oh so many carbs. I’m gonna start seeing calorie charts in my sleep.”

“You tell Doctor Snow that ass is mine to ride,” warned Len. “Maybe next time I’ll have to come along, make sure she keeps her hands off it.”

“Really?” Barry said, brightening. “You’d come hang out with us?”

“I said maybe.” Len took Barry’s coat and dropped it onto the sofa. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you there?”

Beaming, Barry leaned in for another kiss. “Always.”

Len wrinkled his nose as they separated. “Maybe you should think about a shower first. I don’t know what they were serving at that bar, but I can smell smoke all over you.”

“That,” said Barry, “is because I’m _smokin’._ ”

He clicked his fingers before actually doing finger guns. God, Len was dating this imbecile. He rolled his eyes.

“Goodnight, Barry,” he said pointedly, and sloped off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in posting and replying to comments - I just moved into my new uni house and unfortunately we don't have wifi currently. Everything should be up and running again soon, but until then responses may be a bit sporadic!


	16. Chapter 16

It was not a good day for anyone, that day. Least of all for Barry Allen, who was sprinting through the city at four hundred miles per hour, wearing nothing but his underwear.

The day had started off fairly normally - analysing the bomb site, figuring out which file had been tampered with once he got there. The trouble started shortly after he got back to the precinct and immediately had all of his evidence confiscated by some army grunt. In all his time with the CCPD, Barry had never known the army to get involved in a case before now - and neither had Joe, whose career had lasted considerably longer. But all of a sudden the case was out of their hands without so much as a by your leave, and the smug-faced general was marching out and leaving everyone feeling irritated and somewhat cheated - especially Joe. Even the folder that Barry had snagged and taken down to S.T.A.R Labs hadn’t improved Joe’s mood, and he was starting to wish he’d never taken it in the first place, because it had led him to his encounter with his latest metahuman threat.

At first glance the redhead hadn’t seemed particularly threatening - she didn’t appear to be carrying any kind of bomb on her person. Of course, it hadn’t taken Barry long to figure out why.

He’d cornered her on her way back from visiting a contact Cisco had found on her military records. They began grappling as he tried desperately to communicate to her that he was a friend. She wasn’t having any of it. She’d given him a shove - not hard, just enough to make him step back a few feet.

“Listen, you don’t have to do this,” Barry had said. “Whatever’s going on, I can help you!”

She wasn’t listening. She was too busy staring, panic-stricken, at his chest.

“Take your clothes off!”

“What?” Barry had said, aghast, thinking that was probably the weirdest come-on he’d ever experienced.

“Your suit, take it off!”

That was when he’d looked down, suddenly very aware of the sensation of heat spreading from the centre of his chest. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. His suit was turning a purplish-blue, the colour pulsing and spreading at an alarming rate, with a phosphorescent glow. It ate away at the tripolymer, rapidly getting warmer. Barry didn’t need his degree in forensic science to tell him that that glowing purple shit eating away at his chest was Not Good.

He’d shot off like a bullet and taken Bette’s advice, tearing off his suit at super speed and all the while thanking the lord that today, he hadn’t gone commando under the suit. That was one thing he’d never ever be doing again. 

As soon as the suit was discarded, he’d run away again, but even so he’d barely made it out in time. The sound of the blast was deafening, several trash cans getting caught in the crossfire. Barry had stood in the middle of an alleyway wearing only his underwear, dazed and more than a little mortified. 

She’d blown up his suit!  
  
As a result he was now shooting through the city, not so much a streak as a streak _ er.  _ Running at four hundred miles per hour with no shoes on was terrible; his feet started bleeding, a blister forming rapidly. It would have healed over in minutes if he’d stopped to let it, but no way was he going to get caught naked in the street. Putting his head down, Barry ran faster.

He burst into the store cupboard at S.T.A.R Labs and started rooting through it for some spare clothes. Praying that no one would spot him, he backed out of the closet, a t-shirt and sweatpants hanging over one arm, only to walk straight into Caitlin, who was sprinting in the opposite direction and still yelling over her shoulder.

“We didn’t lose connection on the comms, it must be a problem at his e - ARGH!” She did a double take, and then shrieked. “ _ Barry _ !”

“ _ Caitlin _ !” Barry yelled back. 

“What are you doing? Where are your pants? Barry Allen,  _ why are you wandering around the lab in your underwear _ ?” 

“I can explain, Caitlin, I - can I put some clothes on first?” Barry asked weakly.

“Oh, I’m begging you, please do that right now,” she said, “before your boyfriend comes in and kills us all for looking at your abs.”

Barry paused. “You’re looking at my abs?”

“No, Barry, I am not looking at your -  _ just put some clothes on _ !”

Hurriedly, Barry obeyed. He then trailed after Caitlin, heading back to the cortex. As soon as he saw Barry, Cisco leapt to his feet.

“Barry! Oh, thank Jesus, everything went dead on the comms and I thought - ” He stopped dead, eyes narrowing. “Where’s my suit?”

“Uh,” Barry said. 

“Barry. Where. Is. My. Suit?”

Scratching the back of his neck, Barry said evasively, “Our bomber isn’t an ordinary bomber. She’s, uh. A metahuman.”

Cisco was swelling with annoyance, evidently adamant they were going to get to the matter of the missing suit. 

“She blew up the suit,” Barry said. “She touched it, and...boom. I barely got out of it in time.”

“She  _ touched  _ something and it exploded?” Caitlin demanded. 

Cisco made a sound like a squeaky toy being stepped on. They both turned to look at him.

“My suit!”

“Cisco, you have like six of them,” Caitlin said.

“I have two, and I liked  _ that  _ one!”

“The important thing is that Barry’s okay.”

“Yeah, but not for long. I’m going to strangle him for letting some metahuman  _ blow up my suit. _ ” 

“Cisco!”

“Who is this metahuman?” demanded Cisco, attacking the keyboard. “She’s going straight into the pipeline and we’re throwing away the key! Where’s her picture, there must be a picture on this record somewhere... I want to see the evil, conniving monstress that blew up my suit.”

Doctor Wells came rolling in through the doorway, a small smile on his face. “A metahuman with the ability to cause spontaneous combustion upon tactile contact...” He drew closer to the screen. “Fascinating.”

“She’s pure evil,” Cisco said hotly, still flicking through her records in search of a photograph. “You’d better hand her ass to her, Barry, no one destroys my suit and - oh, she’s hot.”

Having paused mid-rant, Cisco was now gazing adoringly at the picture of Bette Sans Souci’s face on the screen. She was stunning, but that wasn’t the point. 

“Focus, Cisco,” Wells said. Then, “this explains why Eiling is so determined to have Bette back under his thumb. An ability like that, if weaponised, could be devastating. Eiling is not a nice man; I had the displeasure of working with him once before and suffice it to say that we did not part on good terms.”

“I don’t think she wanted to hurt me,” said Barry. “After she touched me, she looked terrified. She warned me to take off the suit. I don’t think she’s like the other metas we’ve met. Maybe… maybe somehow we can get through to her.”

“One would certainly hope she can be reached,” Wells said. “But the essential thing is to make sure that Eiling doesn’t get to her before we do. Rest assured that he won’t be taking any precautions. She’ll end up in a cell of a completely different kind if that man gets hold of her. As soon as he figures out how to weaponize her abilities, he will have her out in the field and we’ll lose any chance we might have to help her.”

“Okay,” Barry said, folding his arms. “So let’s find her. Before Eiling gets the chance.”

 

~*~

 

Barry didn’t sleep well the night after they found Bette. She had been located at the office of the doctor Eiling had ordered to operate on her, trying to enact her revenge. Luckily Barry had intervened and the promise of answers had been enough to persuade her to accept his help, but he hadn’t been able to shut his mind off when he got home. Lying in bed next to Len, knowing that someone like him was waiting at the lab, someone with powers who wasn’t inherently a bad person… it made a weight lift from his shoulders that he hadn’t noticed before it was gone. Being the only meta he knew of who wasn’t intent on mayhem and destruction was a heavy burden. Now, he felt… free. 

It felt almost sacrilegious to leave Bette alone. They should stick together, he felt. After all, in many ways they were in the same boat.

He’d barely spoken to Len, other than to kiss him goodnight and to bid him a hasty farewell in the morning before he headed back to the lab, but luckily he wasn’t the only one who was distracted. Len was poring over his laptop all through breakfast, and barely seemed to notice Barry was there. That was fine; it saved him making excuses as to why he was so desperate to rush back to the lab.

Even so, he soon had cause to wish he hadn’t dawdled even long enough to grab something to eat. Eiling had visited the lab in his absence, having tailed Bette with a tracker he’d shot into her arm. Caitlin had dug it out with mere minutes to spare; Eiling soon arrived with a whole cavalry of soldiers, but by that time the tracker was safely shooting down the drain, flushed down the toilet by a quick-thinking Caitlin, while Bette and Cisco hid inside an empty cell in the pipeline. It had been a close call. Barry’s skin crawled when he thought about it.

A part of Barry still couldn’t believe that Eiling had actually had a tracker shot into Bette’s arm; another part wondered why the hell she hadn’t mentioned it earlier, had let the wound fester all night before Caitlin finally performed her examination and found the device. They’d been dangerously close to exposure, narrowly missed blowing their entire operation when the general came barging into the lab. The incident had, however, given Barry a healthy new aversion to Eiling. Upon their first meeting, he’d kind of assumed that the man was all brawn and no brain - but he’d rapidly learnt how dangerous that assumption had been. Eiling could have ruined everything, exposed them all. The very thought made Barry shudder.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, as much as it possibly could be lightened, Cisco had suggested a test-run of Bette’s powers and for several minutes they’d been stationed in the old parking lot where Barry’s abilities had originally been put to the test. Bette threw frisbees and they all watched them detonate. It was kind of like a strange fireworks display, but without the array of pretty colours. At first Barry found it difficult to resist the urge to chase after them, but the fact that they exploded within seconds served as a pretty good deterrent. 

Initially Bette seemed to enjoy the exercise, but after a few minutes they started to run low on frisbees, and she soon grew quiet. Lowering her head, she trudged away from them without explanation. Barry followed, a shadow in her wake.

Together they walked in companionable silence, Bette pulling her gloves back on and hiding her hands in her pockets. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Bette asked after a while.

“Of course,” said Barry. “Anything."

“If S.T.A.R Labs ever found a way to get rid of your powers, would you take it?”

Flabbergasted, Barry stopped walking. The very thought was intolerable. His speed was a part of him now, the  _ best  _ part of him. Taking it away would be like taking away an internal organ, or a limb. He might survive the loss, but how could he ever feel complete again? How could he ever learn to compensate without it? 

“I…”

Bette was watching him from behind her hair. It had fallen protectively over her face. What answer did she want from him? He opted for honesty.

“I...have been very fortunate, with my powers,” he said. “My abilities are useful. I can help people, I can save them, and that’s a blessing. I always wanted to do some good in the world. Now I finally feel like I can.”

“But wouldn’t you rather go back to normal? Have things the way they used to be?”

“This  _ is  _ normal for me,” Barry said. “I’ve gotten used to it. If I lost my speed, I think I’d go crazy. It’s a part of me now, I don’t ever wanna give that up… sure, my life is different. Things happen to me - scary things. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe, because I’m so scared of what might happen. But then it passes, and I realise I’ve been given this incredible gift. It  makes my life more difficult sometimes, but it’s worth the sacrifice.”

“I wish I felt like that. All I can think about is that I’ll never be able to touch another human being ever again. I can’t help anyone. All I can do from now on is destroy everything I touch.” Bette pressed her lips together. “Is there...do you have someone? A partner, or…?”

“Boyfriend,” Barry said. “His name is Leonard.”

“You love him?”

“I’d die for him,” Barry said. “In a second.”

“I never had a partner,” said Bette. “Not for a long time, anyway. I had someone in college, but then… the army was my life. I never needed anyone else. But I have a sister, somewhere. She’s twelve, and I love her. And I have a mom and dad…” She closed her eyes. “All I can think about is that I can’t ever hug my little sister again. I can’t even go near them. All it would take would be one accidental touch. I trip and grab someone’s arm to catch myself, and they’re dead. How can I live like that?” She stared into Barry’s eyes. “If you thought your powers were dangerous, if you were putting Leonard in danger just by being near him...what would you do?”

“I…” Barry swallowed. “I guess I’d leave. If I had to. To keep him safe I’d do anything.”

Bette nodded in agreement. “I can’t see my family again. Better if they think I’m dead. I think I’d prefer that than for them to know I’m alive but that I can’t go near them. What kind of life can I have now? I’m going to have to live as a hermit. I can’t even  _ eat  _ without gloves on in case the food blows up.” She closed her eyes, tilted her face towards the sun. Her cheeks were wet. “What life can I possibly have to look forward to?”

“Bette - ”

“Don’t!”

She recoiled, snatching her arm away. Dismayed, Barry withdrew his hand. He hadn’t even realised he’d been about to touch her, to rest a comforting hand on her sleeve. Even with that protective layer between them, it would only take one accidental brush against her bare skin and he’d be dead.

Bette licked her lips. “Don’t touch me.”

“Bette,” Barry said. “I promise you, somehow we’ll fix this. S.T.A.R Labs will do everything they can to help you. You’ll see your sister again. And no matter what happens, you have us. We won’t abandon you. You don’t have to be alone.”

She managed a small smile. It was evident that she didn’t believe him. Barry didn’t care. Somehow they had to be able to reverse this. He couldn’t see this woman alone and afraid, cutting herself off from the world because of her own terror to touch anything she came across. 

“He’s a lucky man,” Bette said, “that Leonard of yours.”

“Nah,” Barry said. “The lucky one is definitely me.”

~*~

Following one of Mick’s leads, Len had finally managed to identify a likely candidate for Iris’ first interview. There weren’t many people to choose from - the Flash seemed, according to the rumour mill, to specialise in metahumans, people with extraordinary abilities like his own. But he did have an annoying habit of catching people in the act - mid-robbery, burglary or incidence of public nudity - and leaving them tied up outside the precinct at the CCPD, usually still clinging to some damning piece of evidence. He left them there for the cops, practically gift-wrapped. It was common enough that Mick had managed to track down a ‘victim’, given Len the details, and here he was with Barry’s sister in all but blood, ready to get her a scoop. And hopefully learn a few new things about the Flash while he was at it.

It was a relief to see that Iris had followed his instructions and dressed down. He was a little concerned that she might have gone too far and worn something stupid, like shades and a long coat, something that would scream ‘idiot’ or ‘undercover cop’ or both. Thankfully, she knew how to do subtle. Dark colours, a jacket that was probably fashionable a few years back and looked like it had been worn a little too often. Flat boots, good for running in. He spent a few seconds appraising her, decided she’d do just fine, and inclined his head.

“Ready?”

“All set. You think he’ll let me use my tape recorder?”

“You can ask, but don’t be surprised if he says no. People tend to be suspicious; if you start waving recording devices around you might be suspected as a cop. Whatever you do, don’t try recording on the sly. You'll ruin our chances of finding anything out if you get caught.”

“Do I even wanna know how you know so many shady people?”

“Definitely not. Oh, and Iris - not a word to Barry about this. He knows I haven’t always been on the straight and narrow, but as far as he’s concerned I’ve put all that behind me. Including contact with any unscrupulous old pals. I’m doing you a favour, so do me one and don’t drop me in it.”

She held up her hands. “Hey, Eddie doesn’t know about any of this either. I’m risking my neck as much as you. Both him and my Dad would be furious if they found out we were doing this. Nobody needs to know.”

“As long as we understand each other.” Len extended his arm. “May I?”

Wrinkling her nose, she said, “You want to escort me?”

“It’s not a case of want, it’s a case of safety. I have a reputation; if people think we’re together, they’ll be less likely to give you a hard time. Can you stomach pretending to be my significant other for the sake of a scoop?”

“Ugh,” muttered Iris. “This had better be worth it.” Reluctantly, she took his arm.

A more uncomfortable couple could never have been seen. Iris walked as stiffly as a scarecrow, clearly trying to avoid touching him as much as possible. No matter how hard he tried to make things look authentic, he couldn’t do much with her leaning away from him like he smelled bad. Len tried not to take it personally. This was weird for him, too. She was practically Barry’s sister; they hugged every now and then on special occasions, but such prolonged contact was disconcerting. 

“Relax,” he told her. “We’re not fooling anybody with you leaning away from me like that. If you can’t act natural, we might as not bother.”

“Natural? Nothing about this is natural. I’m spoken for.  _ You’re  _ spoken for, with Barry, and he’s pretty much my brother, so it’s like fake-dating my brother in law, and - this is just too weird.”

“Don’t think about it so much. Try not to think of it as fake dating. Think of it as two friends, walking together.”

“That’s stretching things a bit.”

“Then think about how badly you want to write your article, and for God’s sake pull that stick out of your ass,” Len hissed. 

After no small amount of grumbling, Iris made a determined effort to relax. He felt her loosen a little, and after another few minutes of parading down the street, it actually became believable. They made vague small-talk, mostly about safe topics such as the weather, and when he thought they might actually fool someone into believing they were together, he steered her down an alleyway to meet his contact.

Len knew a great deal of unscrupulous people, and many of them had had more frequent run-ins with the Flash than this particular guy, known only to him as Jones - first or last name, Len had never asked. This man, a small-time thief, had been apprehended by the Flash for some minor infraction - drunk and disorderly behaviour or something similarly petty - but had gotten off lightly. There were far more useful sources Len could have found, people who’d had  _ real  _ dealings with the Flash, but many of them were languishing in cells by now, and he’d wanted someone tame for Iris’ first introduction. He could introduce her to men who could turn her bowels to jelly, people the Flash had needed to beat into submission and who loathed him with every fiber of their being, who wanted revenge at any cost - but that struck him as a singularly bad idea. Even if she survived the ordeal without wetting herself (which she might; the girl was tough) she’d have a lot of awkward questions about how Len knew these sorts of thugs, and he didn’t feel like answering them.

Jones was well put together today, wearing an overcoat that was only slightly grubby at the hem. He looked a little shifty, but Len knew him well, and that was his usual expression. 

“Snart,” he said, nodding jerkily.

“Jones. This is my associate, Iris West. Iris - Jones.”

“A very pretty associate,” Jones said, with a clumsy wink. “How can I help you, Miss West?” He held out his hand.

To her credit, Iris took his behaviour in her stride. She briskly shook his hand. “Hi, Jones. I’m going to be frank with you. I’m a reporter - strictly freelance, but I’m working on that. I’m writing a series of articles on the Flash. I hear you’ve had dealings with him in the past.”

“Dealings,” Jones muttered. “That’s a nice way of saying that he slammed me in handcuffs and tossed me in the back of a police car!” He shifted his weight. “I don’t want any trouble. Don’t want my name in the news.”

“This would all be strictly anonymous,” Iris assured him. “It’s an opinion piece. Looking at the perspectives of the Flash’s, uh, victims. The city looks on him as some kind of role model, but I want to hear the other side of things. He has a lot of enemies. That’s what I want to hear about. Your name would be kept out of things.”

Jones peered suspiciously at her. “Why would you want to write about that? Like you said, he’s a hero. Nobody wants to see him as the bad guy.”

Without batting an eyelid, Iris said, “I want to change that. News moves fast; today he’s a hero, tomorrow he’s a pariah. All it’ll take is a few testimonies to change public opinion. Who’s to say he’d still be so keen to play the hero if public opinions changed? He’s in it for the glory. What glory is there in being hated by everyone?”

Jones’ gaze flickered back to Len. “What about you, Snart? What’s in this for you?”

“The Flash got on the wrong side of a colleague of mine,” Len lied smoothly. “I told him I’d find out what I could. Our end goal is to unmask the Scarlet Speedster. Iris gets fame and fortune for being the one to reveal his secret, and I get a little payback for my friend.”

He felt Iris shifting, and made certain not to look at her. Lying like this was dicey; they both wanted to hear different things. As curious as Iris was about the Flash, she didn’t actually want him hurt. Once Jones was out of earshot, he could reassure her, but for now he had to play it cool and hope it wouldn’t put her off.

“Payback,” Jones said, licking his lips convulsively. His tongue flickered out like a lizard’s, wetting his cracked lips. He nodded decisively. “I got whiplash and community service after that red bastard grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and all I did was take a leak down an  alleyway. Yeah. I’ll help you.”

“I appreciate that,” Iris said, with her most winning smile. “There’s a bar around the corner; why don’t we buy you a drink and we can talk?”

“Okay,” said Jones. “A drink. Yeah.”

Len had to hand it to Iris; she was a natural. He would have to congratulate her later on.

“Oh,” Iris said, with an airy laugh. “Silly me, I almost forgot. Do you mind if I use my tape recorder? Saves me taking notes; I don’t want this to seem like I’m interrogating you.”

Evidently dazzled, Jones blinked at her. He was like a moth fluttering desperately against a light-bulb, barely caring that he was burning his feet. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Iris’ smile seemed perfectly innocent to a stranger’s eyes, but Len gave her a sideways glance and saw the flare of victory settle across her face.

~*~

It was late afternoon by the time they parted company with Jones. Len’s wallet was sorely depleted, he reeked of cheap booze, and his head ached from enduring several hours’ worth of Jones’ whining. They left the bar and the man ducked his head and skulked off down an alleyway, whilst Len and Iris headed back up the street. 

“That was perfect!” said Iris, beaming.    
  
Len had to beg to differ. He could think of worse ways to waste an afternoon than interviewing some loser who had once been told off by the Flash, but not very many. The "interview" had mostly comprised of Jones whining about his ill treatment at the hands of the scarlet speedster, and rapidly guzzling his drinks so they'd have to buy him more. At the end of it Len had been able to discern that the man knew very little of use. However Iris seemed pleased enough, which boded well for the future of this operation, and Jones had at least been able to give them the names of a few more people who had been apprehended by the Flash. Things could be worse.

  
"This article is going to be so great," Iris said with immense satisfaction.  
  
"Trust me, we can do better than that. That guy is a notorious loser, and he knows pretty much nothing. Why don't you come back to mine and we'll discuss our plan of attack?" he suggested. "Decide who to interview next."  
  
She only hesitated for a split second before saying "Sure."

As they headed back to his apartment, Len realised with surprise that he’d actually kind of enjoyed himself. Not all the crap with Jones, who was such a low-rate crook that Len was  actually slightly embarrassed to be seen with him. But Iris was pretty good company. He didn’t think they’d ever spent so much time together before.

“Why are you really doing this?” Iris asked. “Looking into the Flash, I mean? What’s in it for you?”

“Like I said. A colleague of mine - ”

“Cut the crap, Leonard. You told me one story, you told that guy another. If you’re not going to be honest with me, fine. But don’t lie to my face.”

“Honesty doesn’t come to me naturally,” Len said dryly. “But if you insist...I have my reasons, and I’ll keep them to myself.”

“...It’s because of Barry, isn’t it?”

Len kept his expression blank. 

“I always thought he’d be into this,” Iris said wistfully. “In a way...I guess I got into this stuff because of him. I thought it might be nice if someone finally supported the things he was interested in. I could never get behind the talking fish-people, or Bigfoot, but this is real. He should be obsessed! But he’s not interested.” She scuffed her feet against the floor as she walked. “I keep thinking that he’s punishing me for all the crazy stuff  _ I  _ didn’t believe in. I never listened to him about any of his conspiracies, so now he’s getting back at me by refusing to listen about the Flash.” Shaking her head, she admitted, “I never thought I’d miss Barry’s obsession with crazy stuff, but… here I am. He’s been so distracted lately, it’s like he isn’t really  _ Barry.  _ You sense it too, right?”

“He just woke up from a coma,” Len said. “I’d imagine it’s taking him some time to adjust.”

“No,” she said. “He’s different. You must see it. You want him to believe in this just as much as I do, admit it.”

Truthfully, Len couldn’t care less whether Barry believed a speedster in a red suit was zipping about the streets. It actually made his life easier if he didn’t. If Barry went digging in all this Flash stuff with his usual enthusiasm, it would only make it harder for Len to conceal his own interest, and to keep his plans for the speedster separate. Even involving Iris endangered his agenda more than he cared to admit - especially if she was going to start getting all touchy feely about Barry. Maybe he was going to have to cut her loose. It seemed like she was totally team Flash, in spite of what they’d just heard about his less than gentle treatment of the scum of the city. Len could only imagine the look on her face if she found out that his interest in the Flash was purely in terms of how he could catch the bastard and harness his abilities for his own purposes.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” he said.

Apparently, she took this as confirmation. With a self-satisfied smile, she quit scuffing her shoes and stood up a little straighter. They continued heading towards the apartment, the top of the building slowly coming into view.

“Hey,” said Iris, “we’re not gonna get interrupted, are we? The last thing we need is Barry walking in when we’re trying to figure out our next move in the investigation.”

“Barry’s busy doing something for S.T.A.R Labs. Probably worshipping the ground Wells walks on, or letting Snow stick him full of needles or something. He won’t be back til late.”

“You aren’t having second thoughts about keeping this from him?”

Len snorted. “Please. I won’t tell him. I couldn’t stand the headache. I’m happy to keep this between you and me.”

“Good,” said Iris. “As long as we’re both on the same page about this.”

As an afterthought, Len slipped his phone out of his pocket and sent Barry a quick text, asking when he’d be home. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be back till the evening, but one thing Iris said had struck a chord - Barry wasn’t the same as he used to be. The old Barry who spent all of his free time in the apartment was long gone, and Len was nowhere near as good at predicting his behaviour as he used to be. 

Len fired off the text and stowed his phone back in his pocket. Better safe than sorry.

~*~

 

“I think Bette should join the team.”

An appalled silence followed this statement. Standing in the middle of the cortex, Barry folded his arms. His friends all looked horrified at the prospect - even Cisco, who had been waxing poetic about the many merits of Bette Sans Souci since the moment he clapped eyes on her. Doctor Wells pursed his lips.

He hadn’t seen Bette in a while. After Caitlin broke the news that the dark matter in her system had merged with the bomb particulate, making Bette’s condition irreversible, the redhead had vanished and Barry hadn’t had the heart to follow her. Sometimes, a person just needed to be left alone. Bette’s chance at a normal life had been snatched out from underneath her; she had a whole future to mourn. But if Barry had his way, soon she’d have a new future to focus on. 

It had taken a lot of thought for Barry to come to this conclusion, but he was confident there was no other choice here. Take Bette in, train her up and help her, or turf her out on the street  with no allies and no place to go. It was a no-brainer. Too bad nobody else appeared to see it that way.

“Out of the question,” said Doctor Wells.

“Why? Why is it out of the question? She needs help.”

“Barry…” Caitlin said gently. “You have to see that we can’t have Bette on the team. She’s dangerous.”

“She can help,” Barry said stubbornly. “She’s like me.”

“She is not like you,” Doctor Wells said. “Bette’s power is volatile. It’s dangerous, it has little to no practical application, unless you intend to start blowing up the metahumans you face, instead of detaining them. We cannot keep her here. The military threat notwithstanding, one tiny mistake and the whole building could come down on top of us. She might not mean it, but she could cause incalculable damage. Bring Eiling into the factor, and you have a whole new list of reasons why it isn’t safe to let her work with us. Wade Eiling is not to be underestimated and he will not stop until Bette is in his clutches. The last thing we need is to have the military poking their noses into what we do here. Can you imagine what would happen if Eiling found out about your abilities, Mr. Allen? He would not stop until he had harnessed your speed for his own purposes. That is not a weapon I want in the hands of anyone, let alone a bloodthirsty general with no moral compass and an over fondness for war and destruction.

“I warned you about Eiling. He lacks empathy, he has no morals, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. If we allowed Bette to join the team, we would have no peace until Eiling had her back in his service.”

“I won’t abandon her,” Barry said. “I won’t leave her to face Eiling on her own, and I won’t lock her in the pipeline, either, so what is it you suggest we do, Doctor Wells? I didn’t become the Flash so I could sit here and do nothing when someone needs my help.  _ Our  _ help.”

He faced them all in turn, spending more time looking fiercely at Caitlin and beseechingly at Cisco, waiting for them to back down. Neither of them did, but Cisco did at least look away in shame.  
  
“I promised Bette we would help her,” Barry said. “If we can’t reverse what the particle accelerator did to her, the least we can do is give her a reason to keep going. I won’t turn away the first metahuman we’ve met who isn’t intent on destroying the city. I don’t know how we’re gonna help her yet, but we  _ will  _ help her. And if we have to take on Eiling to do it… so be it.”


	17. Chapter 17

Just to make a point, Barry was steering clear of everyone at the lab. He wanted them all to have time to ruminate on what he’d said. Surely their consciences wouldn’t let them abandon Bette?

Len had texted him to ask whether he’d be home any time soon, which he’d answered in the negative. There was too much going on in his head right now for him to have a hope in hell of lying convincingly about how his day had been. It was times like today when his resolve weakened and he strongly considered just telling Len about all of the Flash stuff. To have someone to confide in would be such a relief. All the lying was starting to wear him down.

On the other hand, he could only imagine what Len’s advice would be in this situation. He and Doctor Wells did not see eye to eye, but for once Barry thought they would be in agreement. Len was highly in favour of looking out for number one. He’d tell Barry to let Bette fend for herself.

Understandable as that viewpoint was, there was no way Barry could do it. He really needed someone on his side in this. Just for once.

As he was thinking this, the door swung open. Barry had been sat by the treadmill, getting some peace and quiet; he looked up, expecting to see Caitlin, or even Bette come for another heart-to-heart. What he was instead was Joe, looking royally pissed.

“So I hear you did a _fantastic_ job of getting Iris to quit talking about the Flash.”

“What?” Barry said. “I - oh, god, Joe, I’ve been trying, but there’s a lot going on here at the moment, I don’t know if you met Bette, but - ”

“It’s not who _I_ have or haven’t met. It’s who _Iris_ happened to meet the other night.” Joe folded his arms. “When exactly were you planning on telling me that she ran headlong into the Flash at a crime scene?”

Barry groaned. “Look, I didn’t mean for that to happen, she took me by surprise - ”

“And now she knows for certain that he’s a real guy, she’s only going to get worse with this whole metahuman thing! I told you to get her to stop, not give her a reason to continue!”

“I’m trying, Joe, you know how stubborn she is - ”

“Well you need to try harder. The last thing I need is my baby girl hanging out at crime scenes like a groupie at a concert, trying to catch a glimpse of the Flash. I’m starting to think she has a crush on you or something.”

“Ew, Joe!” The very thought made Barry feel a little ill.

Joe held his hands up. “Look, I’m just saying. I don’t care what you do, but the softly-softly approach clearly ain’t working like you thought it would. You need to up your game, Barr. Her hanging out on the outskirts is bad enough, but what if she goes rushing into the thick of it? The whole point of this is keeping her out of danger. So far, you’re doing a lousy job of it.”

Before Barry could argue, Cisco poked his head around the door.

“Hey, has anyone seen Bette?”

“I haven’t seen her since we broke the news about her situation. Why, you missing her already?”

“Okay, who is Bette, and what situation are we talking about?” Joe asked. He eyed Cisco warily. “Cisco, did you get a girl pregnant? Am I about to hear the pitter patter of tiny, nerdy feet wandering around this laboratory?”

“What?” yelled Cisco. “Dude, no! Why would you even - Jesus. Nobody’s getting pregnant, least of all Bette. God.”

“Oh,” Joe said sympathetically. “So it’s a reproductive issue?”

Cisco stared at him in horror. “This has absolutely nothing to do with any form of reproduction! Barry, please explain to Joe why there is no way that is happening with Bette? Not that I wouldn’t be down, if she offered. I mean, not the tiny feet, just the, you know, the part before that. I mean, it could never happen, unless it was some kind of _Pushing Daisies_ situation and all that plastic would kill the mood, but - okay, look, nobody is having sex with Bette!” He folded his arms defensively. “Barry, please explain, before she walks in and hears us having this conversation and I end up in little pieces all over the lab.”

“Bette is a metahuman,” Barry said. “She was serving in the armed forces when she was involved in a bombing incident, ended up riddled with shrapnel. She was in Central City for an operation to remove it when the particle accelerator hit, and the bomb particulate has fused with the dark matter in her body. Now everything she touches…” He mimed an explosion. “Boom.”

Joe’s eyes bulged. “Cisco, I’m gonna take a second here to seriously question your taste in women.”

“Look, Bette is the bomb, pun absolutely intended,” Cisco said. “But even if she wanted to sleep with me, I don’t actually have a death wish. Look, this is all, you know, horrifying and all, because no offence Joe, but you’re basically Barry’s dad and I _so_ do not need my best friend’s dad giving me sex advice - but does anybody actually know where Bette is? We need to find her. Caitlin needs to run some more tests.”

“I told you, man, I haven’t seen her. She’s not at the cortex?”

“She isn’t anywhere. I don’t think she’s even in the building, I looked everywhere.” Cisco paled. “You don’t think…”

Barry’s heart sank. “You think maybe she went after Eiling?”

“I have a very, very bad feeling that she might have done exactly that,” Cisco said. “Suit up, Barry. We’ll track her. But for Christ’s sake, try not to get blown up this time.”

 

~*~

 

Cisco managed to hack back into Eiling’s military feed remarkably quickly, and they discovered with horror that facing Eiling was exactly what Bette had gone to do. Barry shot out towards the waterfront like a bullet, his heart pounding. He had no idea what had provoked this sudden attack, unless it was the realisation that there really was no going back for her now. A final, desperate attempt at revenge on the man who had been chasing her ever since her powers manifested. It didn’t matter: Barry had to stop her. He couldn’t let his friend become a killer.

The scene was chaos when he arrived. The smell of sulphur hung in the air, and Bette had her hands full of glowing marbles that she slung strategically across the battlefield, watching them detonate with immense satisfaction. Two jeeps were lost to her makeshift missiles, several soldiers taken out by the blast.

Barry zipped around the field and confiscated all the soldiers’ weapons, hurling them into the river just as Bette set off another round of explosives and sent the men hurtling backwards, some collapsing outright, others slamming into their vehicles and falling to the ground. Barry watched Eiling fall, dropping like a tree that had been cut down.

Bette stormed towards Eiling, her hands outstretched. It seemed like she wouldn’t have time to get away; if she touched him, he’d detonate within seconds and there was no way she’d get out of the blast radius in time. Perhaps that was the point. The thought made Barry feel sick.

Bette was only a few scant metres away from Eiling, her face contorted with rage, when Barry darted in front of her.

“Bette, stop!”

“What are you doing here?” Bette demanded.

“I’m here to stop you. Don’t do this, Bette, it’s not the way. We’ll figure something out, I promise. S.T.A.R Labs can help you.”

“Barry…”

“You’re not a killer, Bette,” Barry said pleadingly. “Please. I can’t do this on my own. You’re like me, remember? We’ll stick together, I - ”

A deafening bang rent the silence, shattering the rest of Barry’s sentence. He almost jumped out of his skin. The silence that followed, punctuated only by a ringing sound in his ears, was ten times worse. Smoke hung around them in a sulphuric haze. Everything seemed weirdly defined, like someone had turned up the clarity of his vision to an almost unbearable level.

“Oh,” said Bette quietly.

Barry looked down just as she did. A dark red stain was creeping across the front of her t-shirt.

Barry went cold.

He twisted around. Eiling had slumped back to the ground as soon as he’d fired the shot, but there was no doubt that it had been him who’d done it. Bette had her fingers clamped to her chest, and a quietly stunned look on her face. More like a confused child than anything else. She took one rattling breath - and then her legs folded.

Barry caught her before she hit the floor and lowered her gently to the ground. Bette’s eyes wandered, unfocused, over his mask.

He couldn’t bear the thought that the last thing she’d see would be an expanse of impersonal red material, rather than a friend’s face. Yanking his cowl down, Barry bent over her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see him, I couldn’t stop it - ”

“It’s okay,” Bette rasped. “You… I’m glad you stopped me, Barry. You did what was right… I’m glad you stopped me.”

“You’re gonna be okay, I promise,” Barry said fiercely. “Stay with me, Bette, you’re gonna be fine - ”

“You’re a bad liar,” she said faintly.

“It’s all gonna be over soon,” Barry said, his eyes growing wet. He hated that he was crying, that she would have to see it and that he couldn’t keep it in for her sake, just for a few more seconds. But the tears spilled against his will, leaving blotches on her shirt that were even darker than the blood. “You don’t have to be scared any more. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I have to tell you something…”

“Of course, anything - ”

She was starting to tremble, her whole body shaking in his arms. Barry cradled her more carefully, watching the colour leave her face. Her eyes still wandered across his face, as if searching for the answer to a question she didn’t know how to ask.

“Doctor - Doctor Wells. He…” Her eyelids fluttered. “He…”

She went limp in his arms. Her eyes were still open, staring sightlessly into his face. Carefully, Barry closed her eyes. Then he closed his own, blinking the last of the tears away.

Taking a shuddering breath, Barry laid Bette gently down on the ground before getting to his feet. He clenched his fists. If he allowed himself to look at Eiling, he didn’t trust himself not to attack the man on Bette’s behalf.

Maybe he should have just let her kill him.

But, he reminded himself as he rubbed his eyes, the fact that he wasn’t going to kill Eiling was what made him better than the general. Take that away and he’d be just as deplorable.

“Barry?” Cisco said urgently into his comms. “Barry, what happened, did you find her? Is Bette okay?”

“I found her,” he said heavily. “She’s… she’s dead. Eiling shot her.”

The silence on the other end spoke volumes. Bowing his head, Barry took another minute to compose himself, in solidarity with the team at S.T.A.R Labs. They’d broken their promises; they hadn’t helped her.

But when Barry finally opened his eyes, his heart sank.

Bette’s body was pulsing with a horribly familiar glow.

“Oh God,” he said. “She’s glowing. I...I think her whole body’s going to detonate.”

“Barry, you have to get her away from the city; a blast that size could kill thousands!” Caitlin said urgently.

“I can’t, I can’t get away fast enough, she’s gonna blow in _minutes._ ” Barry could feel panic filling his lungs like quicksand, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He forced himself to ignore it, desperately scanning the horizon for a solution.

“Can I run on water?”

“ _What_?”

“I ran up a wall; can I run on water? How fast do I need to go?”

He knelt and lifted Bette’s body off the floor, her neck hanging horribly as he raised her. She was a dead weight in his arms. The warmth was already leaving her; the feeling of her body cooling in his arms made him shudder. How rapidly life deserted people, he thought. She still looked alive, pale as she was… except she was still giving off that sickly purplish glow.

“Guys, how fast?”

Cisco was muttering calculations in the comms; Doctor Wells cut him off. “Six hundred and fifty miles per hour.”

“You have to outrun the blast, Barry,” Cisco said urgently. “If you don’t, you’ll die too.”

“I won’t die,” Barry said firmly. “I’ve got too much to live for.”

And he took off running, with Bette’s limp body still in his arms.


	18. Chapter 18

He did it. Somehow, he managed to deposit Bette’s body and get away in time, to outrun the blast. It had been a close call, the water churning at his heels. The speed he’d clocked was one of his best, but Barry didn’t feel much like celebrating.

Bette Sans Souci was dead.

It felt like there were weights in all of his extremities, making every movement exhausting. He couldn’t help think that Bette’s body was gone, that she’d never have the chance of a proper burial. There would be nowhere for her mother and sister to go to place flowers, or visit her graveside. Her ashes wouldn’t be scattered in a peaceful place where she liked to go. Would the army even bother to contact Bette’s family and let them know that she was dead? Either way they’d never know the truth about what happened. The very thought made Barry angry, in a resigned sort of way. He was too bone-tired to get properly worked up about it.

The worst part had been seeing Eiling on the TV, calmly giving some spiel about an underwater training exercise and giving no indication that he had been affected by Bette’s death at all. That _had_ broken through the haze of exhaustion enough to make Barry angry, but with no one to take it out on, he’d settled for running a few hundred miles on the treadmill, trying to pour out all of his frustration into the exertion. He couldn’t say whether it had really helped or not.

The atmosphere was subdued when he left S.T.A.R Labs. Cisco in particular was quiet, like a ghost at the computer screen, his fingers drifting across the keyboard while he stared into space. Barry wanted nothing more than to go home, collapse into bed and sleep for twelve hours straight. Unfortunately, he had other things to attend to first.

Iris was in a good mood when Barry got to Joe’s house. Her laptop was open on the table. The excitable look on her face told Barry everything he needed to know; she was writing about the Flash, _again._ But he didn’t pick a fight straight away. He accepted her offer of a coffee first, and sat warming his hands around the mug while Iris worked feverishly on her latest blog post. For a few minutes it was almost like old times, the two of them together enjoying that comfortable quiet that can only be shared between people who know each other very well. Barry hated to spoil it. But enthusiasm was rolling off her in great waves, and he was becoming afraid that the longer this went on for, the harder it would be to convince her to let go.

“A friend of mine died today,” he said.

Startled, Iris looked up from her laptop.

“Not really a friend, I guess. I didn’t really know her. But...she died.”

Iris closed the lid of her laptop and reached across the table for his hand. “Barry, I’m so sorry.”

“It made me realise something,” Barry said. “I realised today that there is _nothing_ more important than looking after the people you care about. Keeping them out of harm’s way, no matter what. I can’t lose anybody else, Iris. I can’t.” He placed his free hand over hers, keeping her fingers closed over his own. “I need you to stop, Iris. All the Flash stuff, please. It can’t go on anymore.”

“Really?” said Iris. “You’re going to use a dead friend to try and get me to do what you want? That’s low, Barry.”

“Iris, I’m serious. I know this story is exciting, and fun, but it isn’t worth your life!”

Iris snatched her hand away. “You don’t get it, do you? While you’re burying your head in the sand, there’s so much happening out there. You used to care about it. I know what you said about the Flash, but I don’t believe it, Barry! You never cared about people calling you crazy before; for ten years you just ignored it, and then one word from my dad and suddenly you don’t believe in anything supernatural and you want to put it all behind you? No. It doesn’t make sense, and I’m not buying it.”

“This stuff is dangerous,” Barry insisted. “I lost my mom because of this stuff, I don’t want to lose you too. It’s not like this is even anything to _do_ with you, Iris! The Flash, and metahumans, it’s none of your business.”

“It is my business! It’s _anybody’s_ business, anybody who cares enough to investigate it. I’m a journalist, Barry - ”

“But you’re not a journalist,” Barry said. “You’re just…”

“What? What am I, Barry?”

It was too late to backtrack now. Barry looked her in the eye. “You’re just a _barista._ ”

Iris’ expression turned to stone - aside from her eyes, which were so filled with hurt that Barry felt like he’d slapped her.

“And you’re just an asshole,” she said. “I never thought I’d see the day when your boyfriend turned out to be less of a jerk than you are.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

There was a flicker in her expression before she managed to quash it, giving him a cool look that he couldn’t decipher. But even if he couldn’t read the look on her face right now, he was all too familiar with the one that had preceded it. The look she’d always worn when she broke curfew, or got caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. The look she’d had when she finally told him about Eddie.

“Iris,” Barry said. “What does Leonard have to do with this?”

She pressed her lips tightly together. The childishness of the gesture made Barry want to start flipping tables; he kicked his chair back and got up, slamming his palms down on the table. To her credit, Iris didn’t flinch; she got right up and faced up to him, not at all intimidated.

“What aren’t you telling me? What else are you hiding behind my back?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t _have_ to sneak around behind your back if you tried to be more supportive! I can’t believe your boyfriend is being more helpful than you are, that he’s taking more of an interest! He’s been helping me with my blog,” Iris said, her eyes narrowed.

Barry took a step back. It was like she’d stuck a knife directly between his ribs and twisted.

All he could think was, _Len too?_

“So you’ve _both_ been lying to me.”

“We’ve both agreed you’re being completely unreasonable and we’re not going to curb our interest just because you throw a tantrum every time the Flash gets brought up! If you won’t give us a real, honest reason for this little routine you’re going through, Barry, then don’t expect us to be honest with you.”

“You know how I feel about this,” Barry said. “And you deliberately went and recruited my boyfriend behind my back? Why? Just to prove a point, to piss me off even more? Why did you do it?”

“For your information, Leonard asked _me_ for help. He wanted to know more about the Flash and he thought if we put our heads together, we could find out more than either of us could on our own. And he was right! I _saw_ the Flash, standing right in front of me. And Leonard helped me find one of the guys who’s been caught by him. We got an interview, and I got so much information for my blog - ”

“Len isn’t interested in the Flash,” Barry said.

“Maybe that’s what he told _you_. I can’t say I blame him, the way you’ve been hounding me about it - ”

“You’re supposed to be my friend, Iris! Friends don’t do this to each other; friends listen when one of them gets upset! I’ve asked you over and over to let this go, but you haven’t listened to me!”

“No, Barry, you haven’t listened to _me._ You’ve been trying to take this from me ever since you found out about it, and I don’t know if this is some kind of payback for all the years I spent not believing you about all your conspiracies, but whatever it is, it’s pathetic. You never even tried to support me.”

“Right, so it’s my fault that you stabbed me in the back - ”

“Don’t be so childish,” Iris said.

“Maybe it’s payback time, Iris. We agreed no more keeping secrets from each other, so you go and sneak around with my boyfriend behind my back? Maybe I should go talk to Eddie; how do you think _he’d_ feel about that? And who knows, maybe after that, I’ll go talk to Joe and see how he feels about you dating his partner behind his back!”

“...Wait, what?”

They both spun around. Wally was standing in the doorway, too shell-shocked to be embarrassed at having barged straight in on their argument.

Wally turned to Iris. “You’re dating Eddie?”

“I - "

“And you didn’t tell me? And Dad doesn’t know?”

Barry felt a rush of vindictive pleasure at having dropped Iris right in it. Served her right.

“Wally,” Iris said pleadingly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“Yeah, well apparently keeping secrets is her specialty,” Barry said snidely.

“Shut up, Barry!” Iris said.

“You told him, and you didn’t tell me!” Wally said. “I’m your brother!”

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, I was gonna tell you - ” Iris rounded on Barry. “Thanks a lot, Barry. You ruined what was going to be a really important moment for me! Eddie and I have been talking about how to tell Wally for weeks!”

“Whoops,” Barry said meanly.

That was when Wally seemed to remember all of a sudden that he had walked in midway through a fight. Frowning, he turned to Barry.

“What’s your problem, man?”

“Ask your sister,” Barry said. “Actually, no, she’ll probably just lie to you. The problem is she’s been seeing my boyfriend behind my back.”

Wally gawped. “Seeing - as in _seeing_?”

“No!” said Iris. “I love Eddie, I’m not - Barry, you don’t seriously think I’m interested in Leonard?”

“Well, how would I know? You’ve been spending all this time with him, god knows what you’ve been doing.”

“I’m not talking to you any more,” Iris said, her voice shaking. “You’re being unreasonable. I know your friend died, I know you’re upset, but you’re not being fair and I don’t have to listen to it. Why don’t you go and be an asshole to Leonard? Why is it me who has to face the music, when he started all of this? Why don’t you go yell at him?”

“Trust me,” said Barry. “I’m going to.”

He stalked out, fists clenched. All his pent up anger about Bette and Eiling and the unfairness of having to keep his speed a secret boiled under the surface, barely kept under control.

As soon as the door slammed behind him, he started running.

 

~*~

 

When Barry got home, Len was sprawled out on the couch with his feet up, legs crossed at the knee, one foot hanging in mid-air. He was reading a magazine.

“Good day?” Len asked without looking up.

Without responding, Barry started to unfasten his coat, one button at a time. Taking it slow, letting his anger build. It had eased off a little on the trip from Joe’s house, running making him feel calmer as always, but now he could feel it starting to come back in full force.

Len glanced up, took one look at Barry’s stony expression, and said, “That bad, huh?”

Again, Barry didn’t respond. He hung up his coat. Frowning, Len got up, tossed his magazine onto the coffee table and came to him. Resting his hands lightly on either side of Barry’s waist, he scrutinised his expression for a minute.

“What happened? Did you and Cisco have another fight?”

“It was me and Iris, actually,” he said flatly, waiting for Len to make the connection.

It didn’t hit home. “Hmm,” Len said, leaning in. “I bet I can take your mind off it.”

Their lips met. Barry kissed back without thinking, his body on autopilot. Len’s hands drifted down his sides, their touch feather-light. Through his sweater, Barry could barely feel it. Len’s fingers found his hips, and then cool fingers slipped down the front of Barry’s jeans and pressed against the bare skin of his stomach.

It felt so good, that was the most difficult thing. The urge to just let his anger fade, to let Len kiss all the tension out of him. To savour the feeling of his hands, his mouth, allow everything else to melt away and have Len become his focus. Every touch made Barry’s blood sing, his body already responding to the attention. He could feel his resolve weakening. He hated fighting with Len. And all he’d have to do would be to give in to it.

“No,” Barry said, pulling away. “Don’t - get off.”

Len immediately took a step back, holding his hands up. He looked concerned. “What’s wrong, Barry?”

“I know, okay?” said Barry. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You’ve been helping Iris to investigate the Flash.”

Pause. “Ah, yes. That.”

“Yes, that, Leonard,” Barry said furiously. “How many times have you listened to me complaining about Iris writing about the Flash? And then you go behind my back and help her? You lied to me!”

“Lied is a strong word. I prefer to think of it as… a slight omission of the truth.”

“So a lie, then. How could you do that? You know how I feel about Iris and her blog, I’ve had a bad feeling about it from the start. Why do you even _care_ about the Flash?”

“He’s piqued my interest. Not many people can.” Len gave him a flirty smile. “Guess he’s in good company.”

He was being so blase that it only angered Barry further. “This isn’t funny! You’ve completely gone against my wishes and you know it - or else you’d have told me. Don’t even deny it. It’s bad enough that Iris didn’t tell me about this, but for you to keep this from me when you know how worried I’ve been - ”

“Barry…”

“No! Don’t try and sweet-talk your way out of this, don’t you dare. If you cared about my feelings at all you’d never have let this happen. You’d have _talked_ to me about it! How long were you and Iris planning on going behind my back for? Would you ever have told me, or would you just have kept lying?”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Len said coolly. “You’re making a fool of yourself. Are you going to hear me out, or just keep yelling?”

“People who love each other shouldn’t lie to each other!” Barry shouted. “They’re supposed to share things! They don’t keep things from one another, they - ”

He choked mid-sentence, suddenly realising how astoundingly hypocritical he was being. How could he be so angry with Len when he was keeping an even bigger secret of his own? But that didn’t change the fact that Len had lied to him anyway, and so had Iris, and if they both knew his secret anyway he could avoid all this mess… but it was a secret he couldn’t bring himself to part with. Certainly not right now, when they were fighting. If - when - he told Len, he wanted it to be a rational decision, something he’d thought about and prepared for. Not blurted out in the middle of an argument.

Burying his face in his hands, Barry turned away. He could feel Len’s icy stare fixed on his back.

“I can’t handle this,” Barry mumbled into his fingers. “I just...I can’t deal with this right now.” Heading back over to the coat-rack, he yanked his coat back down and started struggling into it, his hands shaking on the fastenings.

“Where are you going?” demanded Len.

“I don’t know. I can’t think, I just… I need space, okay? I can’t do this.”

Wrenching the door open, Barry walked out and slammed the door behind him, hurrying down the stairs and praying Len wouldn’t follow.

 

~*~

 

As he listened to the sound of Barry’s footsteps fading as he stormed off down the stairwell, Len thought wryly, _Just like old times._ The scene was painfully reminiscent of the early days of their relationship, before either of them really knew what it was. Before he’d fully acknowledged his feelings for Barry, and what they might mean. They’d had dozens of fights that ended just like that, bickering over Len’s jealousy and Barry’s propensity to bring guys home. Every argument ending with one of them storming out in a dramatic huff. Evidently, they were never going to learn.

Still, he thought, if they’d emerged from all those other fights unscathed, there was no reason why they couldn’t bounce back from this one as well. Sighing, he went and sat down on the couch to wait for Barry to come back.

It was unusual to see Barry so angry. Len had seen him lose his temper before and knew it was a dangerous thing when roused, but ordinarily Barry was so mellow that it was always a little surreal to see him lose his cool like that. In yet another demonstration of the differences between them, Len’s anger was cold and burned inwards, fuelling itself further with every passing minute. But Barry burned outwards, all heat and noise and no real depth to it.

The good thing about Barry’s anger was that it didn’t take long to burn itself out. Experience had taught him that after an hour or so in the fresh air, he’d have cooled off enough to have a reasonable conversation.

Trust Iris to go and blow the game, Len thought irritably. It had been her idea to keep their investigations a secret in the first place, and then she’d been the one to rat him out! Admittedly, he’d never realised just how strongly Barry felt about all of this Flash stuff. Sure, the kid rambled fairly constantly about how much he wanted Iris to drop the blog, but he’d never given any indication that he was so touchy about it. Len could only imagine the look on Barry’s face if he found out about the research Len had been doing on his own.

Eventually, he switched on the TV just for something to do. Barry had been gone for over an hour. Len flipped through the channels for a few tense minutes, then disgustedly threw down the remote. Nothing decent on. It was all couples and cop shows, neither of which he was in the mood for right now. Turning it off, he went back to leafing through his magazine. There was a crossword which he’d been filling in, and one of the clues leapt out at him. _Five-letter word for ‘imbecile’._ Hmm.

_‘Barry’,_ Len thought cruelly, and then berated himself for the pettiness. He abandoned the magazine before he was actually tempted to write Barry’s name in the little boxes.

After that, he attempted to read, but gave up when he found himself going over the same paragraph over and over again without absorbing any of it. Annoyed, Len ditched the book and went back to sitting on the couch. Barry had been gone for almost two hours. He was making a good go of it this time. Sulky silences were usually Len’s forte; he felt a little cheated.

More time passed. Len took to pacing and trying not to watch the clock. He failed miserably at the latter.

Midnight. Still no Barry. His determination was impressive. Len stormed off to the kitchen to scrub down all the worktops.

He’d outwait the little bastard if it killed him. Clearly Barry wanted to teach him a lesson - well, if he could be childish and petty, Len would teach him the real meaning of the words. Just as soon as Barry got back, he’d be getting the silent treatment for a week. Maybe he wouldn’t notice; Barry did most of the talking anyway.

Time kept creeping forwards. Len watched more shitty TV. Played a few games on his phone and died in all of them. Paced some more. Still no Barry, and by this point he was actually starting to get concerned.

Where had the little asshole got to?

 

~*~

 

By the time Barry got to Cisco’s apartment, most of his temper had actually abated, to be replaced with a swirling vortex of hurt. It wasn’t so much that Len had lied to him - it was that he simply hadn’t seemed to find his interactions with Iris worth mentioning at all. That it hadn’t even occurred to him to tell Barry that they were sneaking around behind his back.

Running helped, as it always did. His anger had been blown away in the slipstream. He’d done a few laps of the city before coming to Cisco’s place; he’d contemplated going to Starling City to see Oliver and Felicity, but six hundred miles was a long way to run just because he was pissed at his boyfriend - and he doubted Oliver would be too impressed if Barry showed up on his doorstep in the small hours of the morning. Ending up stuck full of arrows wasn’t going to improve Barry’s night.

Then again, maybe Cisco wouldn’t be too pleased to be disturbed so late at night, either. Still, he was here now. Steeling himself, he hit the buzzer.

“Barry?” Cisco said as he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Hey, Cisco. Look, this is a big favour to ask, but can I stay here tonight? Len and I had this huge fight, and I’m not speaking to Iris… I don’t have anywhere else to go.”  
  
“Of course!” Cisco said, stepping back to let him in. “Me casa es tu casa, you know that.”  
  
“You’re a lifesaver, man, thank you,” Barry said as he entered.

Cisco’s apartment always surprised him a little with how neat and clutter-free it managed to be - but cosy. It felt like a home with a capital H. There was an amazing smell drifting in from the kitchen, which made Barry’s mouth water. He hadn’t had time to grab dinner.

Just as he was about to thank Cisco - again - his stomach let out a colossal rumble. Mortified, Barry flattened his hand over his belly, but Cisco just grinned.

"Hungry? I got leftovers in the fridge. I make a mean pasta salad. We're talking feta cheese, spinach, tomatoes, it's to die for."  
  
"Did I ever mention I love you?" Barry asked weakly.  
  
"Might've, but it's always nice to hear it again." They headed into the kitchen and Cisco started rummaging through the fridge. He presented Barry with a tupperware dish and a proud smile. "Gotta keep up Caitlin's dietary plan."  
  
"Amen," Barry said gratefully, grabbing a fork and, digging in.  
  
“Why are you and Leonard fighting, anyway? Is it Wally?”  
  
“Wally? What - why would you say that, did Len mention Wally to you?” demanded Barry.  
  
Holding his hands up, Cisco said, “Whoa, no, it was just an assumption! I know Wally’s been, uh. A point of tension between you two. And since Iris is involved too, I figured...”

Barry stabbed at his pasta, trying to remind himself to keep his cool. “For once it isn’t about Wally. I found out that Len has been helping Iris with her Flash blog behind my back.”  
  
Cisco’s eyes popped. “Wait, Leonard’s been helping her write those articles? _Weird._ I’d have thought there’d be way more puns.”

Waving his fork dismissively, Barry said, “I don’t think he had anything to do with the actual writing part, I gather he just stood around looking threatening while Iris interviewed every lowlife in the city that I happen to have ever brushed past - but that isn’t the point. They’ve both been lying to me this whole time... Why're you looking at me like that?"

“Barry. You’re _the Flash_. And unless I’m mistaken, you still haven’t told either of them. You’re just as much of a liar as they are, if not more. Arguably your secret double life as a superhero is a bit of bigger issue than Leonard and Iris buddying up on a conspiracy blog.”

“That isn’t - it’s a safety issue! Besides, Joe told me not to tell Iris. She’s his daughter, I can’t go against his wishes like that, it isn’t - ”

“And Leonard?”

Barry looked into his pasta salad, his stomach starting to churn. He put it down on the worktop. “The more people I involve in this, the more people are at risk. What happened to Bette today only proved that. Len’s better off not knowing. He wouldn’t get it anyway. He’s a firm believer in looking after number one.”

“You can’t hide this forever,” Cisco said softly. “You know you can’t. And the longer you keep this a secret, the more it’s gonna hurt them when they find out. What if something happens to you, Barry? It was a close call today; you almost died too. You really want Leonard and Iris to find out you’re the Flash when somebody pulls you out of a body bag?”

Barry crossed the room and went to look out of the window, chewing hard on his lower lip. There was an uncomfortable silence, which eventually broke when Cisco came and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Just something to think about,” he said quietly.

“It’s late,” Barry said. “Is it okay if I turn in?”

“Oh, sure. But, uh. You’re gonna have to sleep on the couch. The guest bedroom is kind of a mess.” He looked at his feet. “I’ve been working on tracking down the cold gun. It was hooked up to our system at S.T.A.R Labs so I could transmit software updates, and I thought maybe I could track the signal somehow. Whoever took the gun knows their stuff, they turned the signal off, it’s not transmitting any more… but there’s a whole bunch of components spread out all over the bed, so. I don’t usually have guests.”

“I didn’t know you were still looking,” said Barry. The gun had only been missing for a week or so, but he didn’t have high hopes of ever seeing it returned to the lab. At the moment he was satisfied enough that nobody seemed to be using it.

“I don’t really like the thought of a weapon like that out there on the streets, no matter who has it. I’m gonna find it eventually, it’s just gonna take some time. ...Barry, I just want you to know how sorry I am. You have no idea how much I regret building it. You didn’t deserve that, you’re my friend. I should have - ”

“Hey,” said Barry. “Stop. What’s done is done, Cisco. There’s no point trying to change that. I appreciate that you’re trying to find it. You hurt my feelings, when I found out you built it. But I’m not gonna hold it against you. I’d probably have done the same thing.”

“...Still friends?”

“Of course!” said Barry. “...Do you want a hug?”

“I’d definitely appreciate a hug,” Cisco admitted.

It was a good hug - welcoming. Cisco’s hair tickled his cheek. When they parted, Barry’s mood had brightened considerably.

“Okay,” he said. “We really should get to bed, or else we’re just gonna stay up talking all night.”

“I’ll grab you a blanket. But just so you know, there is a cost to kipping on my couch. Tomorrow, you’re gonna have to sit here with me and watch a whole bunch of great movies, and eat popcorn until you can’t move. It’s a high price to pay, but I’m an expensive guy.”

“Well,” Barry said, grinning, “I’m sure I can handle that.”

 

~*~

 

Eventually, Len gave up waiting for Barry to come home and went to bed instead. Not that he had any illusions that he was actually going to get any sleep; he was too annoyed with Iris, and more concerned about Barry’s whereabouts than he cared to admit.

He ended up lying there, staring directly up at the ceiling and sitting bolt upright every five minutes to check the time on the alarm clock. It didn’t help that the damn bed felt odd without Barry in it. Too big. And his smell was everywhere, shampoo and sleep and Barry. Tormenting him, making sleep an impossibility. Fucking pheromones.

Daylight crept slowly through the blinds, leaking into the room. Len lay flat as a board until ten, then, cursing, admitted defeat. His eyes itched, his body felt stiff, and the dark circles underneath his eyes made him look like a racoon. He’d never expected Barry to stick it out all night. Now the question was where to find him.

Luckily, Len prided himself on his expert knowledge of the inner workings of Barry Allen. He knew where he’d be.

 

~*~

 

After taking a shower, changing his clothes and shaving in an attempt to look slightly less dreadful, Len turned up on Joe’s doorstep. Iris answered in her pyjamas, looking even more terrible than Len felt. She was still in her pyjamas with her hair piled messily on top of her head. There were traces of yesterday’s make-up around her eyes.

Meeting his gaze, Iris pulled her cardigan more tightly around herself.

He meant to start off civilly - truly, he did. The word ‘hello’ was hovering on his lips. But apparently his mouth had other ideas, because instead, he said, “You sold me out.”

“Listen, if you’re here to tear me a new one too, I’m really not in the mood - ”

“We had a deal,” Len reminded her. “Pretty sure ‘not telling Barry’ was the first condition.”

“I didn’t mean to tell him, it was an accident - he took me by surprise, he was really mad - and that was _my_ condition!”

“For good reason. Thanks for warning me that Barry has such a ridiculous objection to anything relating to the Flash, by the way. Might have been useful to know.”

Iris closed her eyes. “Look, I screwed up. I don’t know what you expect me to say.” She took a deep breath. “If you’re gonna keep having a go at me, can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“I’m not here for you,” Len said curtly. Politeness was for people who didn’t drop him in the shit. “I’ve come to see Barry.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about? Barry isn’t here.”

Len’s skin suddenly felt several sizes too small. “What do you mean, he isn’t here? When did he leave?”

“I haven’t seen him since last night. We were talking, I opened my big mouth… as soon as he was done tearing me a new one, he left. I haven’t seen him since. Isn’t he at your place?”

“He walked out,” said Len. “ Haven’t seen him all night. I assumed he’d come here.”

Iris’ hand flew to her mouth. “Did he break up with you?”

“Unclear. I’d like to be certain before I give you an answer, so hold fire on the party poppers,” Len said sarcastically. “You’re sure you haven’t seen him?”

“Leonard, he’s furious with me. He wouldn’t have come within a five mile radius of this place when he’s in that sort of mood.”

“If he isn’t here, where the hell is he?”

“Have you tried Cisco and Caitlin?”

“You think he’d go to S.T.A.R Labs?” Len couldn’t imagine Barry spending the night sleeping in his old hospital bed, although Wells would probably be filled with glee if he did. Creepy asshole.

“Not the lab itself, but he’s been spending a lot of time with Cisco and Caitlin lately; he could have stayed with one of them. Caitlin’s place isn’t that far from where you are. A twenty minute walk at the most.”

Snow hated him. If he turned up on her doorstep after a fight with Barry, he’d be lucky if she didn’t take that stick out of her ass and stab him with it.

It was risk he’d have to take.

“I don’t suppose you could give me an exact address?” he asked.

Iris sighed. “I’ll go get the phone book.”

 

~*~

 

Snow’s apartment building suited her. It was very well-maintained, tidy, with gleaming windows and plush carpets in the entrance hall. Overall it struck Len as the kind of place where a rich old lady might live. Not at all like the place he and Barry shared, which was all bare linoleum and a faint smell of must. This building had an elevator. If his own apartment building had had an elevator, somebody probably would have peed in it. But this place was high-rise. Elegant, almost.

She answered the door, looking politely bewildered at the sight of him on the threshold. It was a marked improvement on the thinly veiled disgust she usually held for him. Even though it was a Saturday morning, Snow was dressed to the nines in a tight skirt and blazer, with her hair done. Did she ever relax, or did she go to bed dressed up and wrapped in plastic to keep her pristine? Len didn’t ask. He was too busy listening out for the tell-tale sounds of Barry blundering around inside her apartment - things breaking would be a dead giveaway, along with sounds of tripping or mild cursing.

“Leonard?” Caitlin said. “What are you doing here?”

“Is Barry here?”

“Barry? Why would Barry be here?”

“We had a disagreement,” Len said, folding his arms. He wondered how quickly he could leave without being a complete asshole; clearly she knew nothing of use. “I haven’t seen him last night. I thought he might have come here.”

“He’s not here,” Caitlin said. “Did you try Joe’s?”

“First place I looked. Barry and Iris aren’t on speaking terms right now, so no dice.”

“In that case he’s probably at Cisco’s.”

Len shook his head. “He’s been fighting with Cisco. He wouldn’t go there either.”

“Wow. He has been busy,” Caitlin said. She managed a smile, which astonished him. “Barry’s the forgiving type. He and Cisco did have a bit of an argument, but I’m pretty sure they’ve patched things up. He’s probably there right now, watching terrible movies and completely violating my new diet plan. I keep telling him pizza isn’t a food group.”

“I don’t have Cisco’s address.” He could probably figure it out with some determination and moderate stalking, but he really didn’t have time for that.

For a minute, Caitlin nibbled on her lower lip. Then, “I’ll come with you. To make sure Barry’s okay, and to act as a mediator if he’s still mad. I might be able to handle him.” She took a step back into her apartment. “Just let me grab a jacket.”

 

~*~

 

In contrast to Caitlin’s apartment building, which fit her like a glove, Cisco lived in a deceptively normal-looking place. He’d been expecting weird aerials on the roof to signal to aliens, maybe a few people wandering around in tin hats. At the very least, a life-sized Darth Vader cutout or a dorky doormat. But he couldn’t see anything odd about the outside of the place. Unfortunately he couldn’t attest to what it was like inside, since he’d been pressing the buzzer repeatedly for a good ten minutes and nobody was answering.

“I guess he isn’t home,” said Caitlin.

“Fine,” Len said. “I’ll wait.” Putting his back to the wall, he slid down into a sitting position.

To his surprise, Snow joined him, positioning herself carefully so as not to show off her underwear. Len tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling. So far he’d been running on stress and mild annoyance, but his sleepless night was catching up to him. He wasn’t used to pulling that kind of shit any more.

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

Caitlin was watching him, her big doe-eyes fixed right on him.

“Fantastic observational skills, Snow, I can see how you got that biochemistry degree,” Len said sarcastically.

He expected her to snap right back, but she continued to fix him with an uncomfortably understanding expression.

Relenting, he said, “Yes, I care about him. More than anything. Except for my sister.” They were probably on equal footing at this point, but Lisa had been number one for too long for him to make room on that pedestal.

There was a peaceful silence, filled only by the hum of the air conditioning and faint sounds of traffic from the main road. Len had never envisioned himself having a heart to heart with Caitlin Snow, but apparently this was his life right now. Spilling his guts to doe-eyed do-gooders. He sighed.

“So what were you guys arguing about, anyway?” Caitlin asked.

“I’ve been helping Iris investigate the Flash,” Len said.

Caitlin’s expression immediately changed. You’d have thought he’d said he’d been helping Iris open up a bondage club.

“Why do all you people react that way whenever the Flash gets mentioned?” he demanded. “Barry’s the same. You all close up like clams whenever anybody brings him up.”

For a while, Caitlin was silent, chewing over her response. She worried at the skin on her bottom lip, tugging at it with her teeth.

“Barry thinks the Flash might have something to do with what happened to his mom.”

Len did his utmost not to react. He’d have thought the connection was obvious; he’d put it together himself quite some time ago. A man who could move like lightning? How easy would it be for a man like that to commit murder, and then flee the scene before anyone had a chance to intervene?

“It scares him,” Caitlin said. “He doesn’t want anything to do with it. Can you imagine how it would tear him apart if anything happened to you and Iris? The Flash is dangerous; anybody involved with him is in danger by association. The Flash has enemies; he runs round the city rounding up criminals, there’s bound to be people who want to take him down. And if Iris goes around acting like she has inside information…” She shrugged. “The wrong kind of people are gonna come to her looking for information.”

The wrong people already had, Len thought. Him. Though luckily he’d taken a more subtle approach to fishing for information than pointing a gun in Iris’ face.

“It worries him enough that Iris is involved with this, without risking you, too,” Caitlin pointed out. “The two of you are the most important people in the world to him. If anything happened to either of you, Barry would be destroyed. He’s lost so much already. Can you really blame him for being a little paranoid?”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“What have you got against the Flash?”

Caitlin hesitated. “I...have a logical perspective. I like science, because it has rules, things I can understand. Everything has a place, a natural order to things. I can fit everything into neat little boxes and be confident that I know how it all works. The Flash is something I can’t even _begin_ to understand. That scares me.”

“You know, Snow, that makes you sound like kind of a control freak.”

She smiled wryly. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Before Len could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of laughter drifting down the corridor. Barry and Cisco appeared, carrying several plastic bags between them. As soon as he spotted Len and Caitlin sitting on the floor, Barry stopped dead.

Len got to his feet. Ignoring their audience, he took a step forwards - and then he was striding down the corridor. He paused a few feet away from Barry, arms out, questioning.

Without hesitation, Barry threw himself into Len’s arms.

Burying his face in Len’s neck, Barry clung to him. His pulse point hammered against Len’s skin, heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s. Len hadn’t realised how taut he was, how intense the nausea roiling in his belly had been, until Barry was in his arms and all of the unpleasantness had dissipated. Breathing in, he steadied himself. Barry, unharmed. No longer angry with him either, it would appear. The relief was almost painful.

Caitlin and Cisco tactfully slipped past and vanished into Cisco’s apartment, leaving the two of them alone together in the corridor. Words couldn’t express how grateful Len was for that. He was terrible enough at the mushy stuff as it was, without having an audience. Sighing, he took a step back, holding Barry at arm’s length. Barry looked nowhere near as rough as he did, but there were very distinct shadows beneath his eyes.

“I think we should talk,” said Barry.

“You’re sure? Couldn’t we skip that part and get to the part where we have mind-blowing make-up sex instead?”

Barry snorted softly. “Maybe later. But...we have to talk about this.”

He sat down, back against the wall. Len joined him, and Barry surprised him by taking hold of Len’s hand and letting their entwined fingers rest in his lap. He toyed with Len’s fingers as he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to go off like that. I know we should have talked about it properly. But I was so angry with Iris, and with you for helping her, that I…” He closed his eyes. “It feels like she’s fighting me every step of the way, and I can’t understand why she won’t just drop it. When I found out you were helping her…”

“I didn’t realise it bothered you this much.”

“I love Iris. The thought of her getting hurt _terrifies_ me. I don’t want her getting caught up in all this. All those years I spent looking into the supernatural have made me realise how dangerous it is. Seeing what happened with Clyde Mardon only made me understand that more. I don’t want anybody else I care about getting involved. I’ve lost enough.”

“Caitlin says you think there’s a link between the Flash and your mom’s murder.”

Barry shrugged. “I mean, it makes sense. Someone with similar powers to the Flash could easily do what the murderer did. It’s not a difficult leap.”

“You ever consider that the person who killed your mom _was_ the Flash?”

Barry stared at him. “What?”

“Well, how many super-speedy lunatics can there be in one city?”

“The Flash didn’t kill my mom! That’s crazy.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do! It wasn’t the Flash, okay? Look, he didn’t even show up in Central City until a few weeks ago, and my mom’s been dead for more than ten years.”

Len shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. He could have been laying low. Keeping his powers a secret.”

“For ten _years_?”

“Even if the Flash didn’t do the deed, maybe he knows something. If there are others like him, who are just as fast, surely he’d know where to find them. Think about it, Barry. A man like that must have connections. He might be able to throw some light on your dad’s case.”

“Is that why you’ve been doing this?” Barry asked, touching his knee. “Looking into the Flash? Because of me?”

Of course, it had nothing to do with that, not by a long shot. All this was just speculation, things that Caitlin’s little speech had brought to light. Len’s criminal brain ticking away, turning over theories in the back of his brain. But he’d just been spoon-fed a perfect excuse, and he wasn’t about to turn it down.

“I know how much this means to you,”

Len said. “Getting your dad out of Iron Heights. If the Flash knows something about it, shouldn’t we be trying to find him?”

“No,” Barry said firmly. “Look - I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But if you’re right and the Flash is involved somehow, if he’s a _suspect,_ I don’t want my family anywhere near him. If we get my dad out of jail, we’ll do it the old-fashioned way: with evidence. Nobody is putting themselves at risk because of me, okay?”

The intensity of his gaze was a little worrying. Len held it, but he couldn’t help feeling bizarrely guilty about the lie.

“I need you to drop this,” Barry said. “ _Please._ ”

“Iris isn’t going to stop investigating, Barry. She’s in too deep.”

“I can’t do anything about Iris. But I can do something about this. Please, Leonard. If you love me, you’ll let this go.”

Beseechingly, Barry looked into his eyes. There was genuine anxiety written all over his face, in every inch of his posturing. His eyebrows pulled upwards in the middle, a little cleft between them.

“Okay,” Len said.

Barry blinked. “...Really?”

“The Flash thing is Iris’ crusade, not mine. I’m only doing this for you… If this is what you need from me, I’ll let it go.”

“Promise me,” Barry said fiercely.

“I promise,” Len said. “No more helping Iris with her articles.”

The relief on Barry’s face was so intense that Len could practically feel a weight lifting from his own shoulders. Bringing Len’s right hand to his lips, Barry kissed it. A huge smile broke across his face.

“Thank you,” he said. “I thought I was gonna have a fight on my hands.”

Len shrugged. “Like I said, not my crusade. Besides, I’m not a born journalist. I don’t like deadlines.” He rested the back of his head against the wall. “What are you gonna do about Iris?”

“I’m taking a break from her for a little while. If I can’t stop her, I’m not going to stand around and watch her put herself in danger.” Barry forced a smile. “Guess I’m not a supportive friend.”

“She’ll come around. Your friendship isn’t worth sacrificing for an urban legend, Iris knows that. Trust me. She’ll come back to you eventually.”

“Yeah,” said Barry. “I hope so.”

~*~

 

They were back at the apartment, and Barry was in the shower. After a brief and slightly awkward luncheon with Cisco and Caitlin, they’d gone home, and Len was just tidying up the detritus from last night’s moonlight vigil when Iris called.

He looked warily at the phone. He’d texted her as soon as he and Barry had finished their earlier conversation to let her know that Barry had been found, so she couldn’t be calling to check in. Len was fairly certain he knew what this call was about.

The shower was still running; he could faintly hear Barry’s singing from several rooms away. Len answered the call.

“It’s me,” Iris said. “Listen, I’ve had a breakthrough. I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way. I saw the Flash at a crime scene, so if we really want to know more about him, that’s where we need to be. And he goes specifically after bad metahumans - he may not attend every crime scene, but whenever there’s a meta sighting, he’s there. So we need to start looking for _other_ metahumans. There’ve been reports coming in of this disappearing woman, who can just vanish in a puff of smoke, she’s been seen committing a whole bunch of robberies around town, but - ”

“Not interested.”

“I - what?” Faltering, Iris said, “Look, I know it isn’t directly relevant, but it gets Barry off our case if we focus on other metas for a while, and eventually this line of questioning is gonna - ”

“Like I said, I’m not interested. I quit.”

There was an angry pause.

“This is because I told Barry, isn’t it?” Iris said. “I told you I was sorry, it was a mistake. Now he already knows - ”

“He gave me an ultimatum. No more Flash, or no more us. Unlike some, I have my priorities in order.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means I care more about Barry’s feelings than I care about some idiot vigilante in red pyjamas,” Len said coolly. “Deal’s off, West. I’m not sacrificing my relationship to go play I spy. I’m done.”

He could hear Iris breathing hard down the phone. If they’d been talking face to face, he suspected she would have hit him.

“Fine,” she said. “If you’re going to be selfish about this, fine. But I’m going to spread the word, no matter what Barry says. People deserve to know we have a hero who’s willing to fight for us. The truth is out there. I’ll find it on my own.”

She hung up on him. Len shoved the phone back into his pocket just as Barry emerged from the shower, one towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair with the other.

“Who was that?”

“Iris,” Len said. “Trying to tempt me with more information about the Flash. I told her I was done.”

Barry stopped towelling his hair and started trying to twist the towel into a pretzel instead. “How’d she take it?”

“Badly. She gave me a lecture about my lack of journalistic integrity, called me a traitor to the cause and then hung up the phone. Guess that friendship’s run its course.”

“I’m sorry,” Barry said.

“No skin off my nose. It just means family dinner parties might be a bit more awkward from now on. Remind me to keep Wally on my side, or else I might be banned from the West household altogether.”

Barry said nothing, only turned away, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I’m sorry, Barry,” Len said quietly.

“It’s fine. It’s just... I guess things are never gonna go back to the way they were before, are they?”

“No,” Len said. “They aren’t.”

For a moment Barry stood hunched over, his head bowed. Len wanted to go to him, but he had no idea what the response would be. Whether his touch would do more harm than help. Words had never been his thing; he’d always been better with gestures. Remembering how Barry had pushed him off the night before, he stayed where he was.

Eventually, Barry breathed out, long and slow. His chin came up. “It’s okay,” he said. “Iris will come round. And in the meantime...I have Cisco, and Joe, and Caitlin. And you.”

“Always me,” Len said. “Whatever happens.”

“I love you,” Barry said, and very deliberately, he dropped the towel around his waist. He turned and looked over his shoulder, giving Len the most blatant set of bedroom eyes he’d ever seen in his life. “You know that?”

A smile started to spread across Len’s face. This, he knew how to deal with.

“Yeah,” he said, as he started slowly unfastening his jeans. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wipes forehead* phew, well that was one heck of a chapter! 
> 
> a lot of things have come to a head here, a lot of difficult conversations being had. i feel like we've moved forward a lot from the relative slowness of the last chapter.
> 
> as always, comments are love!
> 
> interested in my writing? i've started talking more about it on my [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCAeQfe6oifjKScp3ox0IEZQ) channel! today i uploaded a video talking about my [NaNoWriMo project](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m69JIZ3_qRI) for this year, which is a novel that started out as fanfic about a certain group of characters we all know and love... feel free to drop in if you're interested, i'm really excited about this one :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end of chapter for potentially spoilery warning about some mild sexual content you might want to avoid!

“So that’s it?” Mick growled. “You sent me chasing round the city talking to all the idiots who were dumb enough to let the Flash catch them, and now we’re just gonna let it go because your boyfriend says so? You never would’a left a job half done before.”

“And I don’t intend to start now.”

Mick leaned against the worktop, scowling. His sleeves were rolled up, his scarred arms exposed to the air. Len forced himself to look at the ridges of knobbly skin, a mess of lumps and ridges like dried candle wax. That particular injury was a prime example of why you  _ didn’t  _ leave a job half done… or bail on your partner. He’d come back later to break Mick out of the ambulance before the cops got hold of him, but the point was, he should never have left him at all. Shouldn’t have let that fire get out of hand. 

No use dwelling on it now - but that didn’t mean he was going to let himself forget. 

He’d come to Mick’s apartment to inform him of the change to their plans, and been astonished by just how pissed Mick was about it. The Flash thing had always been Len’s pet project; he’d never expected Mick to get invested. But the idea of bailing out and leaving the Flash to his own devices apparently didn’t sit at all well with him. 

That was good, since it didn’t sit well with Len either.

“Iris was a dead end,” he continued, lolling back in his seat. “She was a good starting point, but there was a conflict of interest. She thinks of the Flash as a hero. We think of him as an asset. It was never gonna be a long-term partnership.”

“I thought you told the kid you were done Flash-hunting.”

“I promised Barry I wouldn’t help Iris anymore,” Len pointed out. “I never said anything about my own investigations. Besides, what Barry doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And if the Flash does have something to do with what happened to his mom...well. We’ll soon find out. Maybe I’ll stab  _ his  _ mother, see how he likes that.”

“So we’re still gonna find him?” 

“Sure. Iris was a good starting point, but there’s not a lot of use in finding out insider info on the Flash if it all gets posted on her blog a few hours later. From now on, he’s all ours.”

The cold gun was in the duffle bag resting on Len’s knee. His bullet-wound was healing over nicely. Soon he’d be back in shape, ready to start running real jobs again. In the meantime…

“You manage to find anyone else who’s had a run-in with our favourite speedster?” he asked. “Preferably someone who knows what they’re talking about. The last guy was an idiot.”

“You wanted someone useless,” Mick reminded him. “Someone who wouldn’t freak out the chick.”

“Well now it’s us doing the investigating, we don’t need to take precautions. Shoot first, ask questions later, shoot some more… you know the drill.” He cocked his head. “Got any ideas?”

“Got a couple of guys who might know something. Rough side of town. Won’t give anything up without a fight… Does this mean I finally get to shoot somebody?”

“Sure,” Len said. “Why not?”

Mick gave the first smile he’d mustered all day. “Finally.”

__

~*~

 

For once, Barry was having a quiet day. Work wasn’t especially busy, which gave him the opportunity to catch up on all the paperwork he was behind on. He flashed through it all, filling it all in as fast as the computer could cope with. It was mind-numbing work, all case files and dull details, just the thing to take his mind off everything else that was going on.

In the end, he hadn’t told Len about Bette. That wound was still fresh; he and Cisco were skirting over it, trying to keep from poking the bruise, while Caitlin and Doctor Wells were acting as though it had never happened at all. Barry couldn’t blame them; he was finding a certain comfort in doing the same thing himself. 

The trouble was that if he  _ did  _ tell Len about Bette, he was afraid he wouldn’t stop. It would all come out in a torrent; the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Sometimes he thought that would be better. At least it would make him certain that Len would quit pursuing the whole Flash thing. But there would be so much explaining to do, a dozen questions to deal with, and he was sure Len wouldn’t take too kindly to discovering that Barry had flayed him to the bone for lying, all the while spewing complete and utter bullshit himself. For once he wanted to forget his speed and take some time to be Barry Allen. 

Things weren’t as quiet as he’d have liked them to be, though. Eddie was cold to him in the corridor, presumably having heard about his falling out with Iris. Singh was plying him with more paperwork. Barry stoically worked his way through the pile, aided by his speed. 

Immersed in his work, Barry didn’t realise at first that he wasn’t alone in the lab any more. It was only when he got a very distinct prickling sensation on the back of his neck that he looked up. Wally was standing in the doorway.

“Joe’s not here,” said Barry. “Lunch break.”

“I’m not here to see my dad. I’m here to see you.” Wally folded his arms. “Can I come in?”

Reluctantly, Barry waved his hand in acquiescence. Wally entered, pulled up a spare chair and sat there with cool teenage disdain, eyeing all the paperwork spread out across Barry’s desk. 

“What’s this about?” Barry asked, putting down his pen. He already had some idea.

“It’s about Iris.”

“Right, of course it’s about Iris,” Barry muttered. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. “Okay, fine. What about her?”

“You had that argument the other night, and I know it’s none of my business, but she’s really upset.”

“You’re right, it is none of your business,” Barry said. Then, with some effort, he attempted to reign in his temper. “Look, if Iris sent you to come talk to me, then you can tell her to come and speak to me herself. I’m not passing notes back and forth like a couple of kindergarteners.”

“She didn’t send me. I came to tell you that she’s really upset, because I care. She’s my sister, and I love her. I know you don’t like me much, and I gotta be honest; I don’t have the greatest opinion of you either. But that doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to be Iris’ friend, and friends don’t talk to each other that way.” He folded his arms. “I think you should apologise.”

Barry stared at him in utter disbelief. “ _ I  _ should apologise? What about Iris? She was the one who went sneaking around behind my back!”

“I don’t know anything about that. But threatening to tell my dad about Eddie, that wasn’t fair. Talking to my sister like she’s a piece of dirt; that wasn’t fair either. That seems like a pretty poor way to treat your friend, just because she has a hobby that you don’t wanna be part of.”

It took a great deal of effort for Barry not to kick Wally out of the lab at this point. Of course he knew that in a way, he’d overreacted. But his friend had died; he was surely owed a bit of slack! In temper, he’d said things to Iris that he regretted, but if he unbent his pride and apologised, she would only see it as him giving his blessing for her to continue writing her blog. The only way to fix this whole damn mess was to wait her out, until she realised that all this Flash nonsense wasn’t worth this rift between them. He couldn’t lose face now. 

That being said, he felt shitty enough about the whole situation as it was, without Wally coming to stir things up.

“No offence, Wally, but this really doesn’t concern you. I know Iris is your sister, it’s really nice that you’re looking out for her - but like I said, this is none of your business.”

“It’s just interesting,” Wally said, “that you’re refusing to speak to Iris, but your boyfriend gets let off the hook right away.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Iris told me why you were so mad. Her and Leonard were researching the Flash behind your back. He was the one who asked  _ her  _ for help, and yet Iris is the one who’s getting treated like crap.”

“There’s a difference,” Barry said with gritted teeth. “Len apologised. He didn’t know how much this stuff bothered me, and as soon as he  _ did  _ know, he had the decency to back off when I asked. Iris is putting her stupid blog before our friendship. That’s not on me.”

“Actually, it is on you. Friends are supposed to help each other. They listen to each other. They don’t throw a hissy fit and then stop talking over one stupid fight!”

“I don’t wanna be rude,” Barry said, “but this has nothing to do with you, and I have a lot of work to do, so... ”

Wally got up, the chair legs squealing against the floor. 

“You know what?” he said. “Maybe Iris is gonna see your true colours after all. I don’t know you, but from what I’ve seen of you so far, I don’t think you’re a very nice person, Barry. I hope you and Iris don’t make up after all. She can do better.”

He stormed out, slamming the door. The breeze sent all of Barry’s paperwork soaring into the air like birds taking flight; swearing, he used his speed to pluck them all out of the air - but then he ended up chucking them all back onto the desk anyway, sorely tempted to tear them into little bits.

Eventually, he decided to go for a walk to clear his head. Taking a quick detour to a hot-dog stand improved his move tenfold; with mustard on his fingers and a little more on his shirt that he decided not to acknowledge, he headed back for the lab. Wolfing down four hot-dogs in rapid succession made him feel ten times better; he hadn’t even realised that half the tension in his stomach was due to hunger. 

He had to hand it to Wally; not many people would get involved in their siblings’ friendship drama like that. It was something to be glad of, that he could trust Wally to watch Iris’ back when Barry wasn’t able.

Still, it didn’t make it any more pleasant having a near-stranger tell him exactly how much of a douchebag he was. Especially since he knew, in his heart of hearts, that Wally had a point.

When Barry got back to the lab, he found Joe stood over his desk, sifting through all the paperwork that Barry had left in a heap. Raising his eyebrows, Joe said, “This some new kind of organisational system? Because right now it just looks like a mess.”

Barry sighed. “I got it.”

Flitting over to the desk, he flicked through all of the papers, shuffled and reorganised them into a neat pile. Then he placed them on the desk and put a stapler on top of them in an attempt to keep them all in place.

Joe whistled. “Handy. You ever feel like reorganising my filing cabinet? I could use a trick like that.”

“You know, I’d love to, but I think I have enough to handle with my own paperwork.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, seeing as you seem to spend most of your time spilling mustard on your shirt and fighting with my kids.”

Self-consciously, Barry scrubbed at the stain on his shirt-front. Then he realised what Joe had said.

“Uh…”

“I spoke to Wally,” Joe said. “He had a few words to say about you, and none of them were complimentary. Apparently he came to ask you to make up with Iris, and you acted like, and I quote… ‘a raging bag of dicks.’” 

Barry closed his eyes. “Look, Joe, I’m doing my best, but Iris - ”

“I know what happened with Iris, and you have my sympathy, Barr. Nothing we can do about that now. But do you have to argue with Wally, too? The two of you barely know each other, but you’re at each other’s throats all the time. It might be nice if at least  _ some  _ of my kids could get along.”

“Things are hard enough with Iris, without Wally getting involved.”

“Look,” said Joe. “I just want you two to at least  _ try  _ talking to each other. Right now it’s like you’ve made up your minds that you can’t stand each other, and you never even gave each other a chance. Wally can’t be all bad, Barr. I know it was weird for you to wake up and find this new kid living in my house, and I tried to give you an adjustment period. But you know, he’s basically your brother. Maybe you should try acting like it.”

“I don’t see him as a brother. I can’t even see him as a friend.”

“Wally’s a great kid. He’s hardworking, he’s loyal, he’s smart. He’d be a great friend to you if you’d let him. He even manages to get along with your boyfriend, and god knows that’s a skill barely anyone’s been able to master - ”

Barry rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I don’t expect the two of you to start braiding each other’s hair and making each other friendship bracelets, but I’d appreciate it if you could make some kind of effort to get to know him. I know Iris would like it. Maybe that’ll go some way towards fixing things between you two.”

Barry sighed. “Okay, I get your point… I’ll try, okay? I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can to fix things with Wally.”

A huge grin spread across Joe’s face. He clapped Barry on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid. Thank you.” He turned to leave. “Oh, and I’d clean this place up before Singh comes in. He’s not in a great mood; you know how much he hates messy paperwork.”

Barry opened his mouth to object that he’d just  _ fixed  _ the paperwork, and then forced himself to cast a critical eye over the lab. There were papers and half-finished experiments and test results strewn across every available surface; test tubes and metal filings and filter paper and god knows what else. Okay, so he was kind of a slob. He sighed.

“I’ve got a case to deal with, but I’ll talk to you later,” Joe promised. “In the meantime… try not to start any fights.”

“Yeah,” said Barry. “I’ll see what I can do.”

__

~*~

__

Several days managed to pass without incident. Things were quiet on the Flash’s end - Barry was trying to keep his head down in an attempt to discourage Iris from blogging about him - and now that he wasn’t speaking to Iris, his social life, such as it was, had dwindled to almost nothing. He’d spent an evening with Cisco and Caitlin, after Caitlin had whipped up a lethal five hundred proof alcoholic solution that had got him buzzed for all of five seconds, and another evening playing video games alone on the couch while Len hung out with Mick. He’d completely forgotten his conversation with Joe, and had been all too happy to put Wally from his mind entirely.

He was watching a low-budget crime show when Len came in, a lumpy-looking duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. Lately that thing went Len everywhere. 

Hanging up the bag and his coat, Len came and flopped onto the sofa. Barry promptly put his feet in Len’s lap. With an irritable sound, Len pushed him off, but he was smirking.

“How was your day?” asked Barry.

“Nothing to report, aside from an alarming number of beer bottles in Mick’s trash can. Yours?”

Barry shrugged. “Pretty boring. Civilian found a body downtown, looks like it was a hit and run. Half the guy’s body was ground into the sidewalk. Took half the morning just to peel him off the floor. Then I had another progress meeting with Singh where he told me how terrible my organisational skills are and that my paperwork looks like a monkey wrote it.”

“You must feel so valued,” Len said sarcastically. “Don’t you ever think about quitting?”

“Every now and then, when Singh’s being an asshole. But not seriously. You know I love what I do - bodily decomposition aside. That part I could do without.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Let’s change the subject. You don’t have any plans for this evening?”

“Nothing concrete. Why, do you?”

Reaching for the remote, Len turned the TV off. He tossed the remote onto the nearest armchair, then slid across the sofa so that their legs were touching, pressed together from knee to thigh. One hand rested on Barry’s upper thigh. Lightly, he squeezed.

“Might have.”

A smile started to spread across Barry’s face. Closing his eyes, he leaned in.

Making out with Leonard Snart was easily one of Barry’s favourite past-times. There was a unique charm to it; in a way it could sometimes feel more intimate than actual sex. Feeling his body start to respond, sensitivity heightening the longer their lips spent moving together. Len’s touch light on his skin, wandering from drawing light circles on the back of his hand, to a hand on the back of his neck, fingers in the hair at the nape of Barry’s neck. 

Shivering, Barry deepened the kiss. He shifted closer, practically climbing into Len’s lap. His hands shifted, one on Len’s back, the other sliding up inside his shirt. Just to touch him, skin on skin. Barry’s thumb found a concave, an old scar, one of many. A thousand stories he’d never asked for, all branded into Len’s skin. Softly, he grazed the pad of his thumb against the mark and felt Len shift slightly in response. Sometimes he disliked it when Barry paid attention to his scars; he would pull away, move Barry’s hands to a safer area. But today, he let Barry’s fingers wander, mapping out all of his scars and burns and blisters. 

Really starting to get into things now, Barry caught Len’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged, lightly. Then released. He opened his eyes. Len’s gaze was dark and possessive, his mouth already slightly swollen from the attention. Good. Barry wanted to make out until they physically couldn’t carry on any longer. An evening of losing himself in Leonard sounded perfect to him. 

To his surprise, Len suddenly pulled Barry on top of him, lying flat on the couch with Barry straddling him. They were both starting to get hard. As of yet, Barry had no desire to do anything about it. Dipping down, he caught Len’s mouth again, went back to kissing him breathless. Every now and then, to give Len some respite, he kissed his jaw, his neck, tugged at his earlobe with his teeth. 

“Quit trying to eat me,” Len grumbled good-naturedly.

“Can’t help it. You taste good.”

Smirking at the double entendre, Len pulled him back downwards, fingers tangling in Barry’s hair. His grip was just a little too tight, pulling a little at the roots. Sighing, Barry rolled his hips a little, just enjoying the ache that was beginning to build. They rocked together, no urgency to it. Bodies coming closer, only a few thin layers of fabric between them. He could already imagine how Len’s skin would feel against his own, and the knowledge that he was holding off somehow made the thought even hotter. 

Len grabbed his hips and pressed down, encouraging Barry to buck against him again, this time with a little more force. It stopped being a rocking motion, evolving into a very deliberate grind. He was starting to get breathless.Barry nudged Len’s lip free with his thumb and leaned forwards to kiss him again, this time with more urgency. 

That was when Len surprised him by flipping them both over. For a moment they were both scrambling, trying to figure out their respective positions. Len was pinning him against the couch, his whole body so deliciously close, every inch of him pressed up against Barry. Now it was Len’s turn to kiss Barry’s neck, making him shake, suddenly having to focus on not losing control. God, sometimes he wished he didn’t have his speed. Ever since the lightning struck, he’d been so oversensitive, and when he had to worry about not vibrating on top of everything else - 

Len’s teeth scraped against his jugular and Barry let his head fall back, exposing his throat more openly. His legs were tangled with Len’s as he arched up into the movement of their bodies, falling out of rhythm. Len picked it back up easily, taking control once again. A low moan escaped Barry’s mouth, the first sound they’d made in several minutes that wasn’t just ragged breathing. 

“I love you…”

“Whatever you say,” Len muttered, but he gripped a handful of Barry’s hair in a way that suggested he didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Please…”

“I’ve got you.”

“It’s good, it’s so good…”

“Shh,” Len said, and kissed him again.

All too happy to do just that, Barry let himself be caught up in the moment again, his whole body revelling in the attention. The simple pleasure of just moving with Len, losing himself in his touch. 

“That’s it,” Len said approvingly. “Come on, I got you.”

Helplessly, Barry closed his eyes again and let Len pull him into another kiss.

__

~*~

__

“Dad, I’m really not sure about this.”

Climbing the stairs to Barry and Leonard’s apartment, Joe resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The entire way there, Wally had been whining in typical teenage fashion, literally digging his heels in as they headed to their destination. God knows Joe knew full well that Barry and Wally didn’t get along, but it seemed like Barry was finally making some kind of effort to make amends. Joe had raised his eyebrows when he got the text inviting himself and Wally for dinner, but he wasn’t about to ask too many questions. If Barry was in a charitable mood, he’d take it. Having to hear both his sons bitch about each other constantly was wearing him down. He’d even sit through dinner with Barry’s son-of-a-bitch of a boyfriend if it meant some respite from the complaining. Maybe he had Snart to thank for this evening. Guy always did have Barry wrapped around his little finger.

Honestly, Joe didn’t really give a rat’s ass what had led Barry to invite him and Wally for dinner; any opportunity to make them interact was fine by him. Surely they couldn’t fight over a meal, anyway; both of them seemed to inhale food rather than eating it. They’d be too busy stuffing their faces to start an argument.

“Look,” he said, “all you gotta do is sit down and make polite conversation for a couple of hours. You can do that, right?”

“Depends,” Wally said sulkily.

“On?”

“On how often that asshole opens his mouth.”

“Hey,” Joe said. “Less of the attitude, all right? At least Barry’s making an effort.”

Wally scowled and started scuffing his feet on the stairs. This time Joe couldn’t restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

“Look, Snart’s a really good cook, I don’t know how the hell he does it, so at least you’re gonna get a free meal out of this. Do me a favour and try to play nice?”

“Fine,” Wally said. “Whatever. But you owe me a Big Belly Burger.”

“Dream on,” Joe said as they approached Barry’s front door. He knocked.

No response. He and Wally hovered for a minute or so, waiting. 

Frowning, Joe knocked again.

“Oh no,” Wally said. “Looks like no one’s home. We should leave.”

Joe gave him an unimpressed look. He knocked again. Barry had definitely specified that dinner was tonight. They were a little early, but it wasn’t as if Barry ever went anywhere; if he wasn’t at work or at the lab, he’d be at home. Maybe he’d had second thoughts about inviting them. Well, there was no way in hell Joe was taking that sitting down. He’d had to haul Wally’s whiny ass all the way out here for this dinner party; he wasn’t about to let it slide.

He gave one last knock. Wally was pouting, standing as close to the stairwell as he could without actually descending. 

“Barry?” Joe said. “You in there?”

There was no audible response. He frowned. 

“Barr?”

As a last resort, Joe tried the door handle. The door was unlocked.

He opened the door and poked his head around it. 

“Barr - argh!”

__

~*~

__

The yell of shock burst Barry’s happy, horny bubble. Jerking away from Len, he spun towards the source of the commotion. 

Joe was standing in the doorway, scandalised. Barry’s hair was standing on end, he was flushed and breathless and this was definitely  _ not  _ the kind of position he had ever wanted Joe to catch him in. Scrambling into a more appropriate position, trying to make it less blatantly obvious what they’d been up to, he managed to disentangle himself from where Len was wrapped around him and almost fell off the couch in the process; only Len catching hold of his wrist kept him from toppling onto the floor.

“Joe! What are you doing here?”

“You invited us for dinner,” Joe said pointedly. “Tonight, at seven?”

Len and Barry both looked at Barry’s watch. Six thirty-five.  Trust Joe to be early for a dinner that Barry hadn’t even invited him to.

“I...don’t remember that,” Barry said weakly. His whole body was protesting at the sudden loss of contact; he was struggling to catch up with what was happening, when he was still hard and raring to go. God, he hoped Joe wasn’t looking at his crotch. He fought the urge to cover his lap with a pillow.

“That’s because you didn’t invite him,” Len said. Perfectly collected, he sat up and put an arm around Barry’s waist. “I did. You should probably put a passcode on your phone, by the way.”

“You?” Barry said, astonished. “Why? You hate each other!”

“I thought it was about time we discussed the elephant in the room. Or rather, the elephant just  _ outside  _ the room.”

For a moment, Barry was confused, but all of a sudden Wally West’s head popped up over Joe’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly.

Barry rounded on Len immediately. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Excuse us for a moment,” Barry said, and he grabbed Len’s wrist and pulled him into the kitchen. 

Len let himself be hauled, with a mildly amused expression. Barry shut the kitchen door, hard, and then turned on him.

“That was rude,” said Len. 

“Are you kidding me? Why would you do this? You know how weird things are between Wally and me - ”

“Exactly. I’m tired of being hounded by your charming stepfather, constantly asking me to talk you round. He seems to think I can convince you to talk to the kid. I disagree; you’re a stubborn little bastard, and the only way I could see around it was to get the two of you in the same room and  _ force  _ you to talk to one another. So I organised this.” He waved his hand.

“How long  have you been planning this?” Barry demanded, horrified.

“A few days. The advantage of doing this over dinner is that if things get awkward you can just shove some food into your mouth until the tension dies down.”

“Right, and I assume Joe catching us making out on the couch was also supposed to make things  _ less  _ awkward,” Barry said sarcastically.

“That was badly timed,” Len admitted. “They came early. I was hoping Joe would take a leaf out of your book and show up late, but apparently your bad timekeeping doesn’t come from him.” He shook his head. “I was hoping to get you off before they got here. Thought it’d put you in a better mood.”

“Yeah, because getting me all riled up right before my adopted father and his son come round made me feel  _ so  _ much better,” said Barry, and then his brain caught up with what Len had just said. “Wait, you were gonna get me off when you  _ knew  _ they were coming over? What if they caught us in the act?”

“You’re a grown man, Barry, you’re perfectly entitled to have sex on your own couch in your own apartment whenever the hell you want.”

“ _ Not  _ when Joe is coming over! Seriously, Len, what would you have done if he came in and we were already naked?”

“I was  _ trying  _ to get you off hands free,” Len said. “Another ten minutes and I’d have had you right where I wanted you and nobody needed to walk in on us naked.”

“Is that why you kept pulling my hair?” Barry demanded, outraged. “I thought you were just in the mood!”

“You’re predictable,” said Len, “and your hair is your weak spot. Like I said, another ten minutes and you’d have been putty in my hands and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now are we going to stand here arguing about the various merits of having sex in front of your stepfather or are you going to suck it up and get this over with?”

“Fine,” Barry said, “but just so you know, I’m not talking to you for the rest of the night.”

“That’ll be the day,” Len said unkindly.

Barry gave him a filthy look and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Len to sigh impatiently and make a start on dinner.

 

~*~

 

As mad as Barry was about Len conspiring to get him and Wally in a room together, he had to admit that doing it over dinner had been a good idea. It was hard to remain awkward when they were all stuffing their faces. Even so, he made good on his promise not to speak to Len, only breaking the silence between them to stiffly ask him to pass the salt every now and then.

“So, uh, Wally, you’re at college, right?” he asked, feeling like he should probably make at least some attempt to initiate a conversation. “What are you studying?”

“Engineering.”

“What career path were you thinking of?”

“I wanna build cars,” Wally said, “and, y’know. Engines and stuff.”

They lapsed back into silence. Barry wolfed down several mouthfuls and prayed Len had made enough for them all to have seconds.

“So,” Wally said, “my dad says you cut up dead people for a living.”

Len snorted into his dinner. Barry kicked him. 

Joe looked scandalised. “I did not say that!”

“You did!”

Barry managed a strained smile. “Yeah, that’s not really my area. Being a CSI is more like looking at bruise patterns, checking out the crime scene…”

“You ever have anyone come back to life?”

“What?”

“I read about it on the internet,” Wally said excitedly. “Like when people die, except they’re not really dead, and then they get put in a body bag and they wake up in the morgue like ‘hey, I’m not dead!’ And then the doctors get really freaked out. You ever see anything like that?”

“Uh, no. That’s actually never happened to me. And if it did, it would probably be too late by then, because the mortician would already be halfway through the autopsy, and… you know. That would probably kill them all over again.”

“Right,” Wally said, his smile fading. 

Across the table, Len was giving Barry a look that clearly said ‘nice going, genius.’ However, they still weren’t on speaking terms, so instead of looking to him for help, Barry gave him a stony glare and didn’t respond.

“This is delicious, Leonard,” Wally said.

Len shrugged one shoulder. “Thanks. It’s pretty simple to rustle up when you know how.”

“You think you could teach me?”

If Len was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Sure. Why not?”

Barry, meanwhile, was astounded. Len, fraternizing with the enemy? Len, long-famed for his complete and total lack of patience, offering to teach Wally to cook when he had all but forbidden Barry to set foot in their kitchen with the intention of making anything more complex than a piece of toast? He stared at Len, who calmly ignored him.

If Barry was astounded, Joe was completely gobsmacked. He stared at Wally. “Wait, you can cook?”

Wally shrugged self-consciously. “I dabble. I’m not quite up to Leonard’s standards, but I can get by.”

“You never mentioned you could cook!”

With a cheeky grin, Wally admitted, “Just because I  _ can  _ cook doesn’t mean I want to.  You kind of assumed I was helpless. I was kind of enjoying having all my meals cooked for me.”

Joe pointed his fork accusingly at him. “You and I are going to be having words. And tomorrow you’re making dinner.”

Wally held his hands up in defeat, still grinning. Barry knew he had a sour expression on his face that a grumpy old man would have been proud of, but he couldn’t seem to wipe it away.

“Just let me know when you want me to teach you,” Len said. “I still owe you for the bike.”

“Oh, man, don’t worry about it, that was a favour.”

“The bike?” Barry asked.

“Few months back I was having a little trouble with my bike,” Len explained. “Damn thing died on me a few blocks away from Joe’s house. I was going to ask if I could use the phone to call for a mechanic, but when I got there Wally mentioned he was good with engines and offered to take a look for me. Had it up and running in less than an hour.”

“You never mentioned that,” said Barry.

“It never came up.”

Barry’s grip tightened on his fork. Unbidden, a mental image flashed into his mind; Len, with the bike, maybe leaning over it to show Wally what the problem was. Wally, looking at his ass. Maybe the other way around. Then he thought of Len teaching Wally to make that dinner, standing close to him to issue instructions, maybe guiding his hands every now and then. 

Barry’s jaw clenched. Putting down his knife, he put his hand on Len’s thigh. 

Len looked down and quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. Barry did not share the sentiment. He tightened his grip on Len’s leg. 

If Wally had noticed that he was being glared at, he didn’t react, but Joe had clocked on and was giving Barry disapproving looks. Barry shuffled in his chair so that he was closer to Leonard, pressed right up against him so that they could barely move due to being sandwiched so close together.

Leaning in, Len muttered, “He’s not my type. Too young.”

This did not make Barry feel much better. There was, after all, not such a big age gap between him and Wally.

"So," Wally said, eyeing the way the two of them were sitting so closely together. "How long have you guys been together?"  
  
"Little over a year, give or take," Len said. "We were together for about four months pre-coma, but we'd lived together for about six before that. Depends if you count the coma into the time frame - which we tend to. Saves confusion.”  
  
"A whole year," Joe muttered into his wine glass. "And yet I've still managed not to shoot you. I deserve some kind of award."  
  
Len raised his own glass mockingly. "The night's still young."  
  
"Mm," Joe said darkly. "Don't tempt me."  
  
"A whole year," Wally marvelled. "That's crazy. Don't you ever fight? I mean, you've lived together for such a long time, was it never too soon? I can't imagine not having my own space."  
  
"We don't really argue much," Barry said coolly. "You know, we're happy, we get along..."  
  
"Yeah, but what about when you have a fight? How do you take some time out? Sometimes you must drive each other crazy, you know? You gotta have some breathing room."

Barry was about to outright lie, to present them as the picture of domestic bliss - after all, he couldn't see how this was any of Wally's business - but Len was smirking.  
  
"Well, usually we just yell at each other until one of us gets mad enough to walk out."   
  
"Three guesses as to who," said Wally, slyly glancing across the table at Barry.    
  
"Actually it's kind of an equal thing," said Barry, "but either way it doesn't happen very often, so..."    


Len gave him a look which very clearly said 'who are you kidding?' Barry ignored him and took another sip of his wine. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that he couldn't get drunk anymore; he dreaded to think what he might have said.   


The conversation shifted, then, to Len's bike. It was a topic from which Barry was almost completely excluded; mechanics had never been a particular interest of his. In fact, he barely remembered Len  _ had _ a bike half the time. He'd acquired it during Barry's coma, but rarely seemed to actually use it. 

Barry's interest in that kind of thing had always been negligible at best. He and Joe sat drinking and picking at the remnants of their food while Len and Wally enthused about the new carburetor Wally had installed for him. All the while, Barry's mood steadily worsened. He dealt them all a second helping, his hand shaking. As soon as he was done, he put his hand back on Len's leg. Aside from an absent-minded brush of his fingers against the back of Barry's hand, Len didn't acknowledge him.  
  
This, Barry thought grimly, was too much to bear. His quiet evening in had been ruined by a dinner party he'd had no knowledge of. He was still a little on edge from their unfinished make-out session on the sofa, and Wally was sat there chatting animatedly to  _ his _ boyfriend while Barry was ignored.    


" - But aside from a slight lag in the acceleration from time to time, there's nothing wrong with the bike I have now," Len was saying. His fingertips swirled vague patterns on the back of Barry's hand, as if to soothe him. That light touch was the only thing keeping him from grinding his teeth away to nothing.   
  
"Well, sure, but that lag's only gonna get worse with time. You might find the whole bike starts leaning to the left, so you're gonna end up overcompensating on your turns. It is a problem with that particular model number."    
  
“Guess I just don’t see the point in trading it in when I'm happy with the one I've got now."    
  
Wally shrugged. "Well, yeah, technically there’s nothing wrong with it, but it's always nice to have a newer model..."    
  
"Really?" Barry said loudly.    


They both turned to him, surprised. They'd all but forgotten he was there. Barry's heart pounded. To sit there and hear Wally monopolising the conversation altogether was bad enough, but hearing him make thinly veiled remarks like that was more than Barry could handle.   


"What?" Wally asked.   
  
"You're really gonna sit there and say something like that right in front of me?"    
  
"What on earth are you talking about?"    


"Barry, maybe you need some air," said Joe.   


"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Barry said, ignoring him. "Don't even try to deny it. If you're going to start making cheap digs, you could at least have the decency to admit it.”

“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you, man?” Wally demanded. “Do you have a problem with me?”

“I mean, it’s not a problem with you specifically,” said Barry, looking insolently into his wine glass. “It’s just a general issue I have with anyone who starts making eyes at my boyfriend.”

There was a bewildered silence. 

“Barry…” Len said warningly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Wally. “Did that coma screw with your brain?”

“Hey,” said Joe sharply.

“I’m not  _ making eyes _ at anybody; I’m straight!”

“Yeah, well straight guys and I have a bad track record,” said Barry, tightening his grip on Len’s leg. “So I’d appreciate it if you back off.”

“Why so worried?” Wally said with a sneer that didn’t suit him. “Clearly you don’t trust your boyfriend.”

Speechless with outrage, Barry just sat there. He had to admit that Wally had him - he had no excuse to be so angry about any hypothetical moves Wally might make when he knew full well that Len wouldn’t reciprocate.

_ Did  _ he know that?

An iron grip on his wrist made Barry jump. Len had forcibly removed Barry’s hand from his thigh, and was giving him a warning look.

“Okay, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” Joe said. “I think maybe Wally’s comment might have been misconstrued - ”

“‘ _ It’s always nice to have a younger model _ ?’” Barry said. “Yeah, that was definitely misconstrued.”

Wally stared at him incredulously. “I was talking about the  _ bike _ .”

“Yeah, that was convenient. Just like you were ‘just talking’ about me and Len having fights and how difficult it must be for him to live with me - ”

“Well you gotta admit you’re kind of proving me right on that one,” Wally said.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” Len said loudly. “And don’t go putting words into mine.”

“You don’t seriously think I’m flirting with you, Leonard? Come on. No offence, but - ”

“Trust me, kid, you’re not my type,” Len said dryly. He turned to Barry. “Far be it from my place to say this, but I think you might be barking up the wrong tree. I’m not interested in Wally, and he doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in me either.”

“No, you’re right. He’s just interested in being a douchebag.”

“Look who’s talking,” Wally said. “Everybody was getting along fine before you started hurling accusations around like a paranoid jerk - ”

“I’d rather be a paranoid jerk than an interfering - ”

“Enough!” Joe said sharply.

They all turned to stare at him.

“Look,” said Joe, “Barr, Wally, I know you two don’t exactly see eye to eye. Maybe this dinner wasn’t such a good idea. But either way, we’re here now and I’m sick of the two of you being at each other’s throats all the time. It’s ridiculous. I love you and I want you to get along. You’re both my sons - ”

“No,” said Wally.

Joe sighed and rubbed his temples. “Wally, I know Barry and I aren’t related, but he’s as much my son as - ”

No," Wally said. "I know. That's what I mean. He's your son, not me."   
  
"What are you talking about?"    
  
"Maybe he doesn't have your genes, but that's not what being a parent is all about. You never tucked me in at night, or went to any of my parent/teacher nights. You never went to any of my little league games or gave me embarrassing puberty talks. You did all that for him."    
  
"That's not fair," Joe said sharply. "I didn't know you existed."    
  
"I know, and I'm not blaming you, Joe, I'm just saying that you were his dad before you were mine and there are things you did for him that you'll never be able to do for me. So biologically, yeah, I'm your son. But you're Barry's dad." He stood up, stony-faced. "May I be excused?"    
  
"Wally," Joe began.    
  
Wally didn't stick around to hear whatever Joe was going to say next. He walked out, slamming the front door behind him.   
  
The silence he left in his wake was agonising. Len gave Barry a look as if to say "you handled that well." 

Barry closed his eyes and took a deep breath.   
  
"I'll go talk to him," he said.   
  
"Thanks, Barr," Joe said wearily.    
  
Sliding out from around the table, Barry headed out in pursuit. You had to give it to Wally; he was fast. Barry hung his head over the stairwell, but the kid was nowhere to be seen.   
  
Cursorily checking around for prying eyes, Barry took a deep breath and sped to the foot of the stairs. No Wally. He poked his head outside and could just about make out a rapidly retreating figure with his head down, hands in his pockets.   
  
"Hey!" he called. "Wally, wait!" He jogged after him.   
  
"What do you want?" Wally asked, turning around.   
  
"Hey, man, I'm sorry - I didn't know you felt that way. I'm not trying to, I dunno, take Joe away from you or whatever it is you think I'm doing, I just find it a little weird having you around is all. I'm trying to get past that. And I know what I said was out of order, about you and Len… Things with Iris are really messed up right now, and work is crazy, and… you were trying, and I was a jerk. You think maybe we can start over?" He held out his hand for Wally to shake.    
  
Wally looked down at Barry’s fingers as if he had never seen a human hand before. After a few seconds, Barry lowered his hand.   
  
"You know what?" Wally asked him. "I don't want to start over. Ever since I found out Joe was my dad, I've been living in your shadow. You were in that coma, and all I had to hear every day was how great you were. I had to go visit you and stand at your bedside while Joe and Iris talked about how much they loved you. I always knew I would never live up to that. And I was cool with it, because I thought in time, they'd realise you weren't gonna wake up. Eventually they'd all move on, and I wouldn't have to compete with you, I wouldn't  _ have  _ to be better than you. I could just be Joe's son, Iris's brother, and that was enough for me.   
"But then you woke up. You came back to take everything I worked for. Saint Barry Allen. As long as you're around, I'm always gonna be in your shadow. So no, I don't want to start over."   
  
"Wally," Barry began.    
  
"You already have a dad!" Wally snapped. "Why'd you have to take mine, too?"    


"Hey, c'mon, that's not -"   
  
"Everyone would have moved on, they were _ starting _ to move on. Now you’re back, all you’re doing is starting arguments. You’ve upset Iris, you’ve upset my Dad. You can’t even get along with your own boyfriend! Nobody needs you anymore, Barry. Why didn't you just stay in that coma?"   
  
Barry jerked like he'd been slapped. This time, when Wally turned and walked off, he made no attempt to follow.

  
~*~

 

Well?" Joe asked when he got back in.   
  
Barry closed the door behind him. "Sorry, Joe. He won't talk to me. I tried."    
  
Wearily, Joe rubbed his eyes. "Okay. Thanks for trying, Barr." He got up. "I'm gonna call it a night, see if I can get through to him. I'll see you tomorrow, Barr. Leonard."    
  
When he was gone, Barry buried his face in his hands. For a moment he stood carding his fingers through his hair, and then Len drew Barry into his arms and rested his chin on top of Barry's head.   
  
"So that was a bad decision,” he said.    
  
"Never do something like that to me again," Barry said, his voice muffled against Len's chest.    
  
"No promises." Len hesitated. " You don't have to be jealous of him, you know."   
  
"I wasn't," Barry said, rapidly detaching himself. "I'm gonna make a start on the washing up."    
  
He washed up in silence, while Len stood over him and waited. Ordinarily, Barry would have been bouncing around babbling at a hundred miles an hour, but tonight he scrubbed in silence until Len came and physically removed the dirty dishes from his grip.   


"So are you gonna tell me what's bugging you, or are am I gonna have to make you?"    


Barry refused to make eye contact.    


"Barry."   
  
"Do you ever think it would have been better if I never woke up?"    
  
"What?"    
  
"From the coma. You ever think it might have been easier if I just...died? Never woke up, never picked up where I left off. Everyone could've just moved on without me.”    
  
"Don't you _ ever  _ say that," Len said, so sharply that Barry turned to him in surprise. "Listen to me, Barry, and you listen good. The nine months you were in that coma were some of the worst of my life, and I had a pretty shitty life before we met. I've been in prison. Juvy - that was a rough time. Got my ass kicked on a near-daily basis. My old man went to jail, and then he came out a mean, drunken bastard and he beat me and my sister bloody. But all of those times, I always knew there was something I could do about it. I was never powerless. In juvy could kick off and get myself put in isolation. When my old man was beating me, I knew I could call the social, get Lise and me taken into care. I also knew where he kept his gun. That was my back-up for if things got  _ really _ bad. I've always had a contingency plan, I've always been in control. Seeing you in that hospital bed and knowing there was nothing I could do, that I was powerless... that is the worst thing I have ever been through. You're telling me you'd wish that on me again?"   


Barry averted his gaze.   


"What's put this into your head?"  
  
"It's just something Wally said, that's all, don't worry about it."  
  
"I'm not worried, I'm just pissed," Len said. "What did he say?"  
  
"He was upset, he didn't mean it -" At the look on Len's face, Barry sighed and gave in. "He said it would have been better for everyone if I never woke up. That nobody needed me anymore and it would have been better if they all had a chance to move on."

A beat of silence. Then,    


"I'm gonna kill him," Len said flatly.   


"Well he's right," Barry said. "Ronnie died. Iris and Joe don't need me now they have Wally. Cisco doesn’t trust me; Caitlin couldn’t stand the sight of me when I first woke up. It's understandable; why should I get to live? Ronnie never got that chance. People were finally getting over me and then I woke up and ruined everything."   
  
"Barry. Listen to me." Len rested his forehead against Barry's. "Nobody wants you back in that coma. Cisco and Caitlin love you. Joe and Iris love you. And even if they didn't - if, right now, everyone turned their backs on you, you will always,  _ always _ have me. I will  _ always _ love you, Barry Allen."

There was a moment of intense quiet which followed. Len took a step back and turned away, avoiding Barry’s gaze. Touched, Barry stood and looked at him, the pressure on his chest lightening. They both knew Len didn’t really do emotional speeches. He couldn’t even imagine how difficult it must have been for Len to get all of that out. There was a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face.

Drawing closer to him, Bary rested a hand on Len’s shoulder. The tips of his fingers brushed the nape of Len’s neck. Some of the tension went out of him; sheepishly, he looked up and gave Barry a small smile.  
  
"Thank you," Barry said softly.   
  
"Any time, Scarlet." Turning to face Barry, Len cupped his face and kissed him, long and slow. "I won't try and make you talk to him again. Clearly he isn't going to cooperate. At least you tried."  
  
"Are you still going to teach him to cook?" Barry asked.  
  
"Not until I've decided whether I'm going to punch him for what he said to you. If he shows up over the next few days with a black eye, then I'd appreciate you being my alibi for when the cops come round."  
  
"I can do that."  
  
Len gave a small smirk. “You know, at this rate you’re going to turn that whole family against you. You ever thought about going for a full house? It seems a little unfair that you’ve argued with the two members of the West family I actually like.”

Barry raised his eyebrows. “What, you want me to try to piss off Joe too?”

Len shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Besides, it was Joe who wanted you to get to know Wally in the first place. Surely we owe him a little revenge.”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting involved, you’ll just blow things way out of proportion. We’ll all wake up one morning to find you’ve spray-painted a giant dick on Joe’s front door and shoved a bag of dog crap through his letterbox.”

“Well, I  _ was  _ just going to egg his house, but that’s a  _ much  _ better idea.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Barry said, pointing warningly at him. “Tonight may have been a disaster, but I think it may also have been the first step on the road to actually getting Joe to like you. Promise me you won’t mess it up.”

Eyes twinkling with amusement, Len held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Now, on a more positive note....”

He drew closer, his hands on Barry’s waist. In spite of himself, Barry was grinning. The dinner party had been an unmitigated disaster, Wally now loathed him, and he sincerely doubted that yelling at her brother was going to get Iris back on his side any time soon - but he still had Len. And Len was looking extremely pleased with himself. He tucked his little fingers into Barry’s belt loops, pulling him closer.

“I seem to recall,” Len said, “that we have some unfinished business to take care of.”

Barry arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Before we were rudely interrupted,” Len continued, “I was trying to get you off hands free. Now I’m curious to see whether I can manage it. You know I love a challenge.”

Barry tilted his head back a little, eyeing Len up. “Well, that sounds like my kind of wager. ...We going for the bedroom, or on the couch?”

“Couch. I want to recreate the exact situation, right down to the time constraints. I have a point to prove. Half an hour or so and I’ll have you exactly where I want you. No hands. If you think you can handle it.”

“I’ll get a stopwatch,” Barry said, and bolted for the bedroom with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

 

~*~

 

Sometimes, Barry reflected, no matter how great a support network you had - sweet friends, a supportive father and stepfather, the world’s greatest and most sarcastic boyfriend - you really just needed your best friend beside you.

He missed Iris. There was no replacing her, no getting around that ache. Of course he loved Cisco and Caitlin; he could contact Felicity at any hour and nine times out of ten she’d already be awake, fingers flexing over the keyboard, to bounce back a message. Even Oliver could be counted on, although his brand of friendship was a little more standoffish than Barry was used to. And he had Len, of course. But Iris was different. They’d been joined at the hip since they were kids; Iris knew him like no one else, a bond borne of growing up together. No matter how much he loved his other friends, no one could compare. And he  _ missed  _ her.

How she had managed when he was unconscious, Barry didn’t know, unless he was alone in his suffering. Maybe Iris wasn’t as pathetically codependent on their friendship as he was. But he felt like a piece of him was missing. He could function without her, but it felt profoundly wrong, and there was never a moment when he was unaware of it. It was as if someone had ripped off a few of his fingernails. Sure, he didn’t  _ need  _ them, but he couldn’t feel properly whole without them there.

He was doing his best to keep his mind off it, but it wasn’t always easy. This particular evening, he was alone. Len was at work; Caitlin was at some biochemistry conference she’d been excited about for weeks, and Cisco was visiting his family, with some reluctance. Doctor Wells was probably free, but Barry didn’t feel comfortable hanging out with Wells alone the way Cisco did. The idea of having movie marathons with the guy was kind of bizarre, although he knew Cisco had done it more than once.

So with all his friends occupied and out of town, Barry was alone in bed, playing around on his laptop. It was getting late, and there was little point in waiting up for Len, who hadn’t been able to give him any kind of eta other than ‘stupid o’clock,’ and so Barry was engaging in his latest embarrassing hobby - stalking Iris on social media. 

Unfortunately, she’d become a social media ghost of late. Scrolling through her Facebook yielded no results; likewise, her Twitter feed gave few clues as to how she was feeling. Not so much as a subtweet. Sighing, Barry closed all of his tabs. There was no indication that she was missing him at all. In a way that didn’t surprise him. She’d always found it easier to make friends than he had. Perhaps she’d already replaced him.

_ Snap out of it,  _ Barry told himself sternly. No good ever came of feeling sorry for himself. No good came of creeping on Iris’ Twitter, either. Sighing, he was about to go grab a DVD and some junk food when he remembered he had one last port of call. One more thing to check.

Ever since their argument, Iris’ blog had been quiet. He attributed that partially to the fact that they’d fought about it, and partially because the Flash had been inactive over the past few days. But as he loaded the page, his heart sank. She’d uploaded a new post only a few hours ago.

Scanning the article, Barry was surprised to see that it focused mostly on a story about a ‘disappearing woman’ who could apparently vanish into thin air. Maybe Iris was finally following his advice to branch out and cover other metahumans. He made a mental note to have Cisco check up on the rumour. But as he reached the end of the story, he found a few lines about the Flash. Not much, but more than he’d have liked. A very tantalising hint that she had some kind of lead she was going to follow up on.

Sagging backwards against the headboard, Barry ran a hand through his hair. As far as he knew, Iris was bluffing. She didn’t have any leads, aside from briefly spotting him in an alleyway a few days back. But that didn’t matter. Even insinuating that she knew something could put her in danger.

Enough was enough.

He was at the lab within minutes, changing into the suit. Iris would be working tonight; she had a late night shift at Jitters. Apparently she was determined not to listen to Barry Allen - but maybe she’d listen to the Flash. 

When he got to Jitters, he entered through the back way, keeping quiet so as not to startle her. She was clearing away empty cups and plates, a slight frown on her face. Barry hesitated.

His first thought had been to intimidate her. Not seriously, but enough to show her that she shouldn’t be messing around with this kind of stuff. That the Flash was dangerous. Quickly, he realised he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Even if he did, there was no guaranteeing it would go in his favour; Iris had always been stubborn, and she could well just keep going to prove she wasn’t scared. He’d have to reason with her. 

As he prepared to step into the light, Barry thought of Len and his flair for the dramatic. It occurred to him that a little bit of amateur theatrics mightn’t go amiss.

Taking a step forwards, Barry allowed the light to shine over him, obscuring his face. For good measure, he let himself vibrate, obscuring his features behind a haze of motion. Then he did the same with his vocal chords, filling his lungs and letting the air vibrate as it left his diaphragm. The result was a distorted sound, like his words were being fed through an electric fan.

“ _ Iris West. _ ”

Gasping, Iris whirled around. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of him. She took a step backwards, bumping into one of the tables.  
  
Barry gave her a level look. “ _ I hear you’ve been writing about me. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of sex/sexual activity: Len and Barry start making out on the couch. There's some mild dirty talk, mentions of arousal and things start to heat up. There is some grinding, but they're interrupted before any major sexual activity occurs. If you'd like to avoid this, stop reading at "A smile started to spread across Barry’s face. Closing his eyes, he leaned in," and start again at "Dad, I'm really not sure about this."
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Well that was a chapter and a half! I feel like it's about DAMN TIME Len started being less of a dick - after the way he's acted over the past few chapters I'm glad he's FINALLY got his priorities right. 
> 
> Well. Ish. 
> 
> This was a pretty argumentative chapter, but Wally has been kind of sidelined so far and I wanted to bring him back into the fold. Would like to state for the record that I love Wally a lot, and although he's kind of bratty at times in this chapter, I feel he kind of has a reason. And Barry isn't exactly on his best behaviour either. God damnit, guys, WHY WON'T YOU PLAY NICE?
> 
> As always, comments are love, and thanks for reading :D


	20. Chapter 20

For a moment he was afraid he’d overdone it. Rooted to the spot, Iris stared at him with her mouth hanging open.

But then her expression changed. He hadn’t seen her look that way since Christmas Day when they were kids. It was a look that spoke of granted wishes. A look that believed in magic.

Barry felt a rush of happiness in response. This was the kind of reaction he dreamed of, whenever he imagined telling her or Len about what he could do. No judgement, no fear. Only pure, unhindered excitement.

Iris took a step closer to him, her eyes wide.

“It’s you,” she said breathlessly.

Barry raised his gloved hand in a silly wave. “ _Hey._ ”

“I can’t believe it,” Iris breathed. “I...it’s really you. I knew you were real, I…” Flustered, she looked around the room, taking in all the tables that still needed clearing. They were piled high with crockery, one covered in a sticky-looking puddle. “I should… all this stuff needs clearing away, I need to - ”

Before she could even finish her sentence, Barry was moving. Part of it was a need to move the conversation forward - the longer she spent with him, the more likely it was that she might figure out who was behind the mask - but if he were being perfectly honest with himself, he mostly just wanted to show off. His speed had become a point of pride. At S.T.A.R Labs, the scientists had all become very matter-of-fact about it, and it was nice to have an audience, fresh eyes to impress. Having to keep his powers hidden was a drag if only because he couldn’t show off; he’d have loved to do something like this in front of Len. He felt like a magician.

Blurring around the room, he wiped tables and stacked mugs, scraped dirty plates into the trash and dumped disposable cups and napkins into the trash. The whole process took him all of three seconds. When he was done, Barry did one last disgustingly showy lap of the room, letting his lightning flare - and then he stood once again in the shadows, only a thin bar of light to illuminate one side of his blurred face. Iris was staring at him in awe, her hair in disarray from the breeze he’d created.

“I’ll meet you on the roof,” he said. “I’ll give you a head start.” He couldn’t help but add a wink.

Iris laughed breathlessly, turned, and ran. True to his word, Barry gave her a few seconds to start, vibrating with excitement. God, he’d turned into a goofy kid again. Getting the chance to display his powers in this way, to see her so delighted by what he could do, was giving him a strange kind of high. It was the closest he’d been to feeling drunk since the lightning struck.

He sped up the back way, found himself a ledge to sit on and sprawled out decadently, like a cat. Imitating one of Len’s most ridiculous ‘casual’ poses, Barry waited.

It seemed to take an age for Iris to get to him, although he could hear her footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Barry fought to keep calm. The last thing he needed was to lose control of his powers in front of Iris. How ridiculous was it that having his best friend see him with the suit on was freaking him out more than fighting a metahuman made of gas, or running on water whilst cradling a dead body in his arms?

Barry licked his lips. He had to play a character. Be the Flash, not Barry Allen. How would the Flash, fastest man alive, act in this situation? Heart hammering, Barry told himself, _play it cool._ The Flash would be unruffled. He wouldn’t be geeking out.

Iris appeared on the roof with a grin on her face, and immediately started twisting around trying to spot him. That gave Barry a few extra seconds to compose himself, and by the time she’d seen him, he was back in his casual pose, face strategically tilted into the shadows.

“This is crazy,” Iris said. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to meet you.” She drew closer. “Who are you?”

Barry snorted. “ _Come on. Revealing my secret identity? I can’t do that, that’s like, superhero rule number one._ ”

“Not even a clue?”

“ _Nope._ ”

“Damn,” Iris said, her eyes sparkling. She didn’t seem upset. “Okay, then... _what_ are you? How did you get like this?”

“ _Not gonna tell you that either,_ ” Barry said.

“Oh, come on. You’ve gotta give me something. Why did you come here? Not to the city - I mean here, to Jitters. To see me.”

“ _Finally, a question I can answer._ ” Barry sat up, making sure his face was still vibrating. “ _I came to ask you a favour._ ”

“ _Me_?” Iris said. “But I...I’m just ordinary. What do you need me for? Don’t you have a team or something?”

“ _In a manner of speaking,_ ” Barry said. “ _But this is something I need you to do specifically._ ”

“Of course,” Iris said. “Anything.”

That made Barry feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the friction being generated from his vibration. Even when she didn’t know who he was, Iris still had his back.

Leaning forwards, Barry said, “ _I need you to stop writing about me._ ”

Iris closed her eyes for a second. “Wow. Change the record. You know, everyone I’ve spoken to has been telling me that. Why don’t you want me to write about you? Don’t you want some recognition for the incredible things you do for this city?”

“ _I don’t do this for the glory._ ”

“Then why _do_ you do it? What’s it all for?”

“ _A friend of mine told me I got these powers for a reason,_ ” said Barry. “ _I figured, what better reason than to help people?”_ He frowned. “ _Quit distracting me. This isn’t an interview._ ”

“Could have fooled me,” Iris said. “You’re still answering my questions.”

“ _Yeah, well, I don’t get a chance to talk about this stuff much._ ” He shook his head. She was better at the journalism thing than he had given her credit for. “ _You’re doing it on purpose._ ”

“I’m just that sneaky,” Iris said, folding her arms. “So go on. Why should I stop writing about you?”

“ _It’s dangerous._ ”

“Please,” Iris scoffed. “Crossing the street is dangerous. Driving a car is dangerous. If I spend my  whole life worrying every time I do something risky, I’ll never get any living done. You do dangerous things all the time.”

“ _It’s my job to do things that other people can’t,_ ” Barry said. “ _I’m trying to save this city._ ”

“Don’t you get it? That’s what _I’m_ trying to do!” said Iris. “I’m trying to spread the word about you. People need to know that there’s someone out there who’s trying to keep them safe. This city needs hope. That’s what I’m trying to give them.”

Barry dropped down off the ledge and sped to the other side of the roof. Iris whirled, grinning again at his antics. It was a childish ploy, distracting her with speed and flashing lights, but Barry wasn’t above playing a little dirty.

“ _This city has more than its fair share of heroes,_ ” Barry said. “ _Why not write about the CCPD? Or the fire department? They deserve just as much recognition as I do._ ”

“I have this friend,” Iris said. “Something terrible happened to him when he was a kid. All our lives, he’s believed in the paranormal. He was obsessed; it gave him something to hang on to. But he was in an accident, and now he’s losing that. He doesn’t believe in you. But I was right ; you _do_ exist. That’s proof that maybe he was right about what happened to his mom.”

“ _What happened?_ ” Barry asked. His voice was rough now, and not just because of the trick with his vocal chords.

“His mom was murdered when he was a kid,” Iris said. “By some guy in a yellow suit. Everyone thought he was crazy - even me. But now I know you’re real, and I’ve realised that crazy things _can_ happen. Maybe you, and people like you, are the secret to discovering what really happened that night. Investigating you might be the only way I can help my friend.”

Barry had to run to the opposite side of the roof again, flitting past Iris and using the opportunity to scrub his eyes with gloved hands. There was a lump in his throat. All this time, he’d been hauling Iris over the coals for her obsession with the Flash, getting more and more angry with her - and it was all for him.

Not for the first time in his life, Barry was reminded very harshly of how little he deserved her.

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” he said. “ _But you’re wrong._ ”

“Wrong?” Iris frowned. “How can I...what am I wrong about?”

“ _My powers have nothing to do with what happened to your friend. I was given my powers on the night of the particle accelerator explosion. All of the strange things that you’ve been writing about - me; the disappearing woman; that storm that happened just outside the city - they were all caused by the particle accelerator. This - ”_ he gestured at himself, lightning sparking from his fingertips - “ _has nothing to do with your friend’s mom’s murder. I’m sorry._ ”

He’d said too much. Iris had that look on her face, the one she got when things were suddenly clicking into place.

“The particle accelerator,” she breathed. “That makes so much sense. What happened? Was it deliberate? Was the particle accelerator supposed to create these… metahumans? I never understood the science - ”

“ _I’m not telling you anything else,_ ” said Barry. “ _Iris, I’m begging you. You have to stop writing about me._ ”

“You can’t drop a bombshell like that and just expect me to forget about it!”

“ _Look, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a game to me. It’s my life. Even disregarding the fact that writing about me is dangerous, it’s a pain in my ass. You’re gonna blow my cover, if nothing else._ ”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Iris said, taking a step closer. “I wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of the face behind that mask.

The conversation was drifting into dangerous territory. He’d have to abandon ship and hope for the best.

“ _I’m asking you nicely. Delete your blog. Take down all your posts. Quit working on your conspiracy theories and chasing me at crime scenes. If you really want to repay me for saving this city, that’s what I need you to do._ ”

“If you actually expect me to delete all that hard work, you clearly have no idea what it’s like to be a writer,” Iris said. “I’ve put blood, sweat and tears into that blog. I had to teach myself _coding_ to get it all up and running, on top of all the hours I spent writing my articles, and now you want me to delete it? I think I’d rather jump straight off this roof.”

Barry couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer audacity of her comments. She didn’t seem to give a crap that he was fast enough to throw her off the roof himself, if the mood took him. “ _Don’t make me wipe your computer,_ ” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“ _Don’t try me._ ”

On a whim, Barry flitted closer to her. He stood behind her, his whole body vibrating minutely, like the wings of a bumblebee. Iris was shivering, her head twisted so that she was almost, but not quite, looking over her shoulder. Barry kept his gaze trained on the floor. The smell of her perfume made him ache with the urge to hug her. Missing her, in that moment, was like a punch to the stomach. Even standing right beside her, he still felt incredibly alone.

“ _I understand you’re trying to help your friend,_ ” Barry said quietly. “ _But you need to help yourself. Stop writing about me, Iris. Please._ ”

“You sound just like Barry,” said Iris.

For a moment, his heart stopped.

“That’s my friend,” Iris said. “We’re not talking right now… he won’t speak to me because I wouldn’t stop writing about you. He says it’s not safe.”

“ _Maybe you should listen to him. He sounds like a smart guy._ ”

“He’s scared,” Iris said, and she turned around to face him.

Barry took a step back, alarmed, blurring his face even further. Her pupils flickered across his face, struggling to focus. His heart pounded, body throbbing with every frantic beat.

“He’s afraid,” Iris said. “After what happened to his mom, he has every right to be. But I know you, Flash. I haven’t seen your face, but I’ve seen what kind of man you really are. I’m not afraid of you.”

She was so beautiful that it took his breath away. Brave and bold, staring right up at him with clenched fists. This was the Iris who had punched his bullies for him in the playground and joined all his geeky after-school clubs when he was too scared to go on his own. The Iris who had spat in the face of the first kid who called Barry’s dad a murderer.

Love for her surged, so sudden that it frightened him. And more than anything, he felt a desperate certainty that he had to do something. To keep her safe from this.

Lightning was volatile. It seared and destroyed. She was reaching out towards the light without the faintest idea of what she was toying with.

Barry couldn’t let her get burned.

Lowering his voice, he said, “ _You should be_.”

Then he yanked her off her feet.

She gave a sharp intake of breath and then Barry was running, across the rooftop and straight down the side of the building. Iris’ hair whipped the exposed parts of his face. Barry let his speed build, cutting expertly through the turbulence from the wind, and then they were on solid ground and he streaked down several alleyways and down a deserted street before planting her on her feet directly underneath a streetlight and then whirling off into the night.

He ran eight blocks at a frightening speed before he stopped, flashing down an alleyway to bend double behind a couple of trash cans. Breathing heavily, he fought to get his breath back. She was heavier than he’d anticipated. Carrying Bette had been easier - but he’d carried her bridal style. Iris had been on her feet.

Grimly, Barry straightened up. He hadn’t wanted to frighten her. Hadn’t thought himself capable of it. But it had been a last resort. If begging wouldn’t convince her to stop blogging about him, than perhaps a dose of good old-fashioned fear might do the trick.

And if that hadn’t put the fear of god into her, he didn’t know what would.

He hadn’t taken her far, just a few blocks away; she wouldn’t have lost her bearings. But he’d proven a point. In the wake of what he could do, she was defenceless.

He only hoped she’d got the message.

Sighing, Barry stretched his legs a little, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Then he took off running again, to return his suit to S.T.A.R Labs. All that verbal fencing with Iris had left him exhausted. There was a reason she’d captained the debate team in high school.

As he ran, though, Barry couldn’t keep a small smile off his face. In spite of his promises to Joe, and his certainty that keeping Iris in the dark was the right decision… it had felt _good_ to show off his powers.

He only wished that he could somehow show the same display to Leonard.

 

~*~  


Breathing hard, Len lowered the cold gun, his arm leaden. There was a palpable chill in the air, making the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end in spite of the parka. Mick stood a few paces behind him.  
  
They both eyed the corpse on the floor. Smoking faintly, the man's head now resembled little more than a blackened, frostbitten lump. It looked a little like a chunk of coal, glittering with crystals of frost.   
  
Len felt a smile start to creep onto his face.  
  
The man was one of the Santinis, part of a criminal gang who had been warring with Len over turf ever since he'd re-established himself as a criminal power in the city. Santini had sent this pathetic underling their way, pretending to have information on the Flash. Given that he and Mick weren't idiots, they'd known full well that they were waltzing right into a trap - but what better time to test their new weapons?   
  
Len walked over to the corpse and gave it a nudge with his foot. The head crunched like broken glass, rolling to the side. Seeing the man reduced to an icy husk gave Len a rush of quiet satisfaction; it was a pretty clean way to kill someone, if nothing else.   
  
Behind him, Mick made a displeased sound. "When am I gonna get to shoot someone?"   
  
"Soon," Len promised, turning away from the corpse. "I doubt this is the last we'll hear from Santini. But at the very least this'll show him we mean business." He eyed the corpse. "Do you mind getting that?"   
  
"Why do I always have to carry the bodies?" Mick grumbled, but he grabbed the dead man and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Bits of frostbitten skin clung to Mick's jacket like dandruff. Len decided not to mention it.   
  
"Why else would I keep you around?" he said dryly.   
  
Mick rolled his eyes. "Where are we gonna leave this one? I vote shoving it into Santini's mailbox."   
  
With that ghoulish image in mind, Len steepled his fingers. "Charming. I was thinking that we leave it somewhere public, swarming with cops. You do know how the Santinis despise the fuzz. Might as well stir up a little trouble while we're at it. Besides," he added. "It keeps Barry in business.”  
  
For a while, they walked, keeping to back alleys and deserted street corners. It was the small hours of the morning, but you never knew who could be lurking around. Len soon found himself drawing ahead, while Mick, laden with a hundred and fifty pounds of defrosting corpse, lagged behind.  
  
"This is stupid," Mick said irritably. "I wanna burn something." 

"You can burn that jacket when you get home; there's bits of dead guy all over it." 

Mick made an irritable sound.

Fighting the urge to sigh, Len started thinking it over. He knew Mick got tetchy if he spent too long without satisfying the urge; his skin started feeling several sizes too small. Len could relate. Too much time playing domestic with Barry and he sometimes got the same feeling. The desire to destroy, to feel the rush. To run for his goddamn life. Sometimes Len wasn't sure if it was him chasing the adrenaline, or whether it was the other way around.  
  
Soon he'd find them a job where Mick could satisfy his more destructive urges. At the moment, though, Len was going for a softer approach. The last thing he wanted was to tip off the Flash before they were ready for him. There was little margin for error in any job, but this one was a little more risky than most. Miss their chance, and the Flash would have them before they even realised what was happening. They were like a couple of cats stalking a lion.   
  
But, Len thought, even little kitty cats had claws. 

"Pick up the pace, grandma," he said, slinging his gun over his shoulder.   
  
"Things might go little faster if you helped me with the body," Mick growled. “What’s so urgent, anyway?” Mick demanded.

“I have a business meeting.”

“Seems like I missed my invite.”

“I’m going solo on this one,” said Len.

Mick stopped walking. “We don’t do solo. We’re partners. That’s not how this works.”

“It’s not that kind of meeting,” Len said. “Joe West’s kid has been giving Barry a hard time. He and I are going to have words.”

Making a disparaging sound, Mick said, “Tell the kid to fight his own battles. Send him my way. I’ll teach him to throw a proper punch.”

Ignoring the fact that Barry trying to punch someone would probably do more harm to himself than the person he was hitting, the very thought of him even _trying_ made Len want to laugh and cry in equal measure. “Barry didn’t send me. There are certain things I won’t stand for. Wally West is a decent kid, but if he thinks he can talk to Barry that way, he has another think coming.”

“You’ve gone domestic,” Mick said disgustedly, although he did start moving again.

“I look after my own,” Len reminded him. “Always have.”

"I still say you've gone soft," said Mick.  
  
Len raised his eyebrows. "You're carrying a dead body through the streets with its head blown off. Exactly how hard do you want me to be?" 

Mick had to dip his head in concession. Pointedly, Len drew ahead again, leading the way down another alleyway.

"Never caught you leaping in to defend _my_ honour," Mick grumbled.   
  
"You're quite capable of defending your own. Barry? Not so much."   
  
"Just watch yourself, Snart. Beating the hell out of Joe's kid ain't gonna get you in his good books. And you know he's been giving us the stink-eye. Last thing we need is a precinct full of pissed off cops coming down on our heads."   
  
"Aw," Len said sarcastically. "I never knew you cared."   
  
"I hate prison," Mick said flatly. "And I'm not taking a one-way trip to Iron Heights so you can punch some punk kid who pissed off your boyfriend."   
  
"I'm not going to punch Wally. I just wanna talk to him." 

It was true. Probably. Len was a firm believer in doing what felt right in the moment, and if what felt right just so happened to be knocking out a few of Wally West's teeth, so be it. Len still hadn't forgotten the look on Barry's face when he told him what Wally had said.

"Now let's get moving," he said. "I wanna have this body out of the way before the sun comes up. R.I.P."  
  
"Rest in pieces?"   
  
" _Rot_  in pieces," Len corrected. "Come on. I know a great place for us to ditch it."   


~*~

  
Barry Allen did not ordinarily have a problem with dead bodies. After all, it was his job to deal with such things. Even today, it wasn't the body himself that was bothering him. It wasn't the fact that its face was rapidly melting into a heap of sludge, and that a sickly smell was drifting by on what should have been a pleasant breeze. Nor was it the fact that it had been dumped a few streets away from the precinct, which seemed like an incredibly daring - and insolent - gesture from the murderer. No; the problem Barry had with this corpse in particular was that he had a nasty suspicion that he knew exactly what the cause of death had been.  
  
"Any ideas, Allen?" Singh asked. 

Reluctantly, Barry got up off his knees. He had many ideas, but he didn't particularly care to voice any of them. Still, this was his day-job, after all. Being the Flash didn't pay his utility bills.

"Frostbite," he said. "The heat of the day has already melted most of the ice, but you can see the way the skin is cracked and peeling around the cheeks - well, kind of." All you could see now was a heap of slush, but when he'd first arrived on the scene, the corpse had been in slightly better shape. "Textbook frostbite. Fourth degree. But if you look here - " He pulled down the neckline of the corpse's shirt. "The damage stops just below the collarbone. That means our guy wasn't submerged in icy water or, say, locked in a freezer. The rest of his body is undamaged. We're talking a concentrated blast of cold straight to the head - literal brain freeze." Barry shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'd say we're looking for some kind of specialised energy weapon. Something that's not on the market. The cold blast was too neat, it was aimed very specifically at the head. Any other kind of exposure would have caused trauma to the rest of the body as well, but if you look, there's no damage to any of his other extremities."  
  
Singh did not look impressed. "A specialised energy weapon."   
  
"Yes, sir. I think so."   
  
"You do realise this is real life, not Star Trek."   
  
"I do realise that, Captain Singh, but there's no other plausible explanation. Even if our murderer had used, say, liquid nitrogen, there would be no way of controlling the stream to that extent. Some of the droplets would have damaged other parts of the body, there would have been patches of frostbite elsewhere. But from the neck down, our corpse is perfect. There isn't any other explanation."  
  
For a while, Singh continued to glare at him. Barry stood his ground. His reputation for being obsessed with the supernatural had gained him plenty of ridicule from other members of the department, but this was his job. Let them call him crazy and roll their eyes behind his back. In this instance, he knew what he was talking about. 

"You know what?" said Singh. "Fine. Forget about the weapon for now; we'll put it on the back burner. I want you to focus on identifying the body. God knows we can't ask anyone to identify _that_." He gestured at what was left of the face. "Get back to the lab, run some tests - and for god's sake, Allen, don't go round telling people that our victim was murdered by an alien? I don't need that kind of paperwork."  
  
Resisting the urge to say that he thought the man was murdered by a crook wielding a piece of formidable experimental technology, not an alien with a proton blaster, Barry nodded. "Yes, sir."

Back at the lab, Barry did all of the obligatory testing and sample reorganisation on autopilot. His brain was well and truly checked out of the situation. Only the fact that Singh was already pissed at him kept him from ducking out and going straight to S.T.A.R Labs to tell everyone about this new development. Getting fired would not help Barry trap down this cold-gun toting maniac, although it might have awarded him a little more free time.

What with everything that had happened with Bette, he’d kind of forgotten about the whole cold gun debacle. Not completely, of course; he knew Cisco was still investing a lot of time into tracking it down, without much success. But it hadn’t really been a major concern before someone had shown up dead after being blasted with a gun which had been built with Barry in mind.

Knowing the gun was out there was one thing. Finding out that someone was actually _using_ it was another thing entirely. Having seen firsthand what kind of damage the thing could do, Barry was even more determined to find it. The issue was _how._ At S.T.A.R Labs they’d all been hoping that the new owner would sell it on and they could track it that way, but it seemed that they were planning on hanging onto it. Their only lead, therefore, was the dead body which was currently stuffed - ironically - inside a freezer at the morgue.

Until he was done analysing the samples and, hopefully, getting some kind of DNA match flagging up on the system, there wasn’t much Barry could do. All he could do was hope and pray that there would be some obvious link to lead them to their thief.

It occurred to him then that their gun-stealing friend did not yet have a cool alias. Cisco would have to get on that. Maybe it was a little inappropriate to be nicknaming someone who had recently shot a guy in the face, but Barry was learning to take what he could get. If giving their mystery gunman a silly nickname made the tight feeling in his stomach go away, that could only be a positive thing.

Shaking his head, Barry put his gloves back on and got back to work.

 

~*~

  


Wally wasn’t difficult to track down. It took Leonard all of two hours, a quick hack into the kid’s gmail to check the GPS on his phone, and a short detour for lunch before he found Wally leaving the Central City library with a group of friends. He was chatting animatedly, waving his arms; he almost took someone’s nose off with his wild gesturing, and they all burst out laughing.

The contrast between Wally’s cheerful demeanor and the grim set to Barry’s mouth when Len left the house earlier was enough to cement his decision. Stepping out of the crowds milling around the library, he moved very deliberately into Wally’s line of sight.

They made eye contact. Immediately, Wally faltered, falling out of step with his friends. He hovered uncertainly, and for a moment Len thought the kid was going to try and make out like he hadn’t seen him - in which case, Len was going to be a complete raging asshole and go storming in there to embarrass him. But after a moment, Wally muttered something to his friends, squared his shoulders and headed for where Len stood. Kid had guts; you had to admire it.

“Hey,” Wally said, stopping just out of easy punching rage. Smart kid. “What’s up?”

“I think you and I need to have words.”

“Okay. About what?”

Len gave him a look. Wally bore up fairly well, returning the look far longer than most people could, but Len was a pro. Eventually, Wally wilted, and his gaze returned to his feet.

“Okay, fine,” said Wally. “I’m sorry I ruined your dinner party. That was a dick-move, I know you were trying to do the right thing. You’re a great guy, Leonard. I really don’t get what Joe and Iris have against you. Although I do have a theory; I’m pretty sure it’s something to do with the way the sun shines out of Barry’s ass. No one could ever be good enough for Saint Barry Al- ”

“If I were you,” Len interrupted, “I’d be very careful what you say next.”

Wisely, Wally fell silent. It looked like it took a lot of effort; he was wound tighter than a jack-in-a-box - but he did shut up.

“Barry’s not perfect,” Len said. “I’m well aware of that. But I’m in no position to criticize someone for unfounded jealousy. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a hypocrite.” He folded his arms. “I’m well aware that the two of you don’t see eye to eye. As far as I’m concerned, that’s none of my business. But if you think I’m going to stand here and listen to you insult him, then I suggest you think again.”

Wally didn’t apologise, nor had Len expected him to. Arms folded defensively across his chest, he looked every bit the sullen teenager.

“I’m not an unreasonable guy,” he continued. “I don’t like to go throwing around accusations without due cause. I’ve heard Barry’s side of the story, and I didn’t like what I heard. But I’m willing to hear you out.” He gave Wally another look. “Bear in mind that I don’t think much of being lied to. Did you tell Barry that the world would be better off if he never woke up from that coma?”

To Len’s satisfaction, Wally did have the grace to look a little ashamed of himself.

“Yeah,” he said. “I said that.”

“I appreciate your honesty. For that, I might actually reconsider my decision to punch you.”

Blinking, Wally said, “Punch me?”

Len held up his hand. “Please. Let’s get both sides of the story before I make up my mind. Were you provoked?”

“...Provoked?”

“Apologies aren’t exactly Barry’s forte. He went after you with the intention of apologising, but for all I know he did a piss-poor job of it. I wouldn’t put it past him to continue the argument instead. So. Did he provoke you?”

“No,” said Wally. “He came after me and said he was sorry. He told me he wanted to start over, and he tried to shake my hand.”

“And you threw it back in his face.”

Defiantly, Wally lifted his chin.

“Wally,” Len sighed. “I like you. I really do. But I really am having a hard time not punching you in the face.” He looked Wally in the eye. “This feud between you and Barry is none of my business. I couldn’t care less whether the two of you are friends or not; I only got involved because Joe kept asking and it’s important to Barry that Joe and I get along. But let me make this very clear: say something like that to Barry again, and I will _make_ it my business.

“There are a very limited number of people in this world who I would do anything for. Barry Allen is one of them. You do not want me as your enemy. You catch my drift?”

“Yeah,” Wally said quietly. “I hear you.”

Satisfied that he’d got his point across, and without even having to use his fists, Len turned to leave.

“For the record,” Wally called after him, “Barry really doesn’t deserve you. You’re worth ten of that guy.”

“If you truly believe that,” Len said over his shoulder, “then clearly you don’t know either of us very well.”

“I know you well enough,” Wally said. “Well enough to see that Barry has a whole lot of stuff he doesn’t deserve to have.”

Len turned around. This was a dangerous conversation; his knuckles were getting itchy. “Meaning?”

“Meaning everyone always takes his side,” Wally said, clenching his fists. “You’re his boyfriend - I get that. Of course you’d support him. But my dad and Iris, they’re the same. ‘Barry this, Barry that, _don’t be so hard on him, Wally, you’d like him if you got to know him_ ’ -”

“Barry’s not a bad guy.”

“Yeah, well neither am I!” snapped Wally.

“I’m not going to stand here and debate with you, because I doubt you’ll listen and I know you won’t care. But Barry has lost a lot, and because of that, he clings to what he has with both hands. I think you can probably relate. The two of you are both fighting over your family like a couple of spoilt brats. I’d bang your heads together, but you both have such thick skulls that I can’t decide who’d be worse off.”

“You think that because we both grew up without our fathers and have dead moms, we’re supposed to get along,” Wally said. “I’m _nothing_ like him.”

“Hate to break it to you, kid,” Len said, “but you’re more alike than you think.”

The disgusted look on Wally’s face spoke volumes. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Once upon a time, Len would already have cut his losses and left - not without giving Wally a taste of his knuckles first, just to make a point. Maybe Mick was right; he _was_ getting soft.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t expect you to work miracles. But if you _ever_ speak to Barry that way again, I don’t care whose son you are - I will be paying you another visit. And I won’t play quite so nicely next time. Are we clear?”

“I get it,” Wally said. “Don’t sweat it, Leonard. I have no interest in talking to Barry ever again.”

Incredible. Len had always prided himself on being dramatic, but Wally West made it into an art-form. He felt like he’d walked right onto the set of an angsty teen drama.

“I’m glad you see things my way,” he said. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

With that, he turned and left. As he did so, he kept his head high and his duffle hanging loosely from one hand. His stride was purposeful. After all, he couldn’t be outdone in terms of needless melodrama. Not by a kid.

 

~*~

 

The whole precinct was buzzing with nervous energy when Barry left. It had been getting to Barry, amplified by his desire to get back to S.T.A.R Labs and tell the others about his findings, but he hadn’t dared leave until Captain Singh did; the whole force was on edge. Barry had run the DNA samples through the CCPD database, and the system had immediately pinged back a match. Unfortunately, he kind of wished it hadn’t.

It was one of the Santinis.

The guy was pretty low-level; a distant cousin, maybe married into it somehow. Anybody high up in the food chain wouldn’t have been caught; the Santinis had always been clever about covering their tracks, dodging or destroying anything that could have incriminated them permanently. Their guy was, in essence, a dogsbody - but the fact that he was involved, and worst of all, that he was now dead, made things complicated. It was the same worry they’d had with the Darbynians - one tiny quiver of a domino right at the end of the row, and the whole thing could come crashing down. The idea of a full-scale gang war made everyone at the precinct grim about the mouth, not least because they had no idea who had instigated the attack. Singh was foaming at the mouth; Barry didn’t dare mention his energy weapon theory again, although he’d been carefully preparing a case, organising his case notes about the incident they’d been investigating a while back, with the gun trafficking incident. Barry knew full well that the cold gun had been involved in that crime scene; the DNA of the dead gun trafficker had matched with the DNA of the thief who broke into S.T.A.R Labs and stole it in the first place - but without the wherewithal to tell Singh about it, he was having to build enough evidence to make a plausible link between the two cases without actually mentioning his involvement with the gun. Barry was pretty sure Cisco would be in a whole lot of trouble if the CCPD found out that he’d been inventing specialised experimental weapons in his free time, regardless of the fact that they’d want to know _why._

Everything was fairly quiet at S.T.A.R Labs when he burst in, with the usual gust of wind and shower of paperwork flying everywhere. Sighing, Caitlin reached for the pile of papers he’d inadvertently scattered. Doctor Wells, who had been staring quietly into space, turned to look at him.

“Barry. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

His tone was a little reproachful; Barry had been avoiding the lab since Bette’s death. It was a painful reminder of everything that was messed up about his life right now. But Barry didn’t have time to be ashamed about his negligence.

"I think we have a lead on the cold gun," said Barry. "A pretty solid one. I got called to a crime scene today. The victim was suffering from the most intense case of frostbite I've ever seen... straight to the face."

Caitlin put a hand to her mouth.

"The brain wouldn't have been able to survive the sudden drop in body temperature. Whoever has the gun clearly know what it does and isn’t afraid to use it. And it gets worse. Our gunman has powerful enemies. The victim was one of the Santinis - one of Central City’s most powerful mob families. If we’re not careful, we could end up with a full-scale gang war on our hands.”

“My tech is being used in a gang war?” Cisco said. He looked a little dazed.

“Not yet, but things could easily swing that way. Right now, we’re just dealing with pilot fish.”

“Pilot fish?” Caitlin said.

“Yeah,” said Cisco. “Yeah, I get it. These little pilot fish, they tag along with the sharks and the other bigger sea creatures, steal the scraps of their dessert and get protection from the predator at the same time. They’re like scavengers. Not a lot of power behind them, but if there’s a pilot fish then that means there’s a big daddy shark swimming not that far behind…” He looked around the room. “What? I saw it on _Doctor Who_ ; 2005 Christmas special, can we skip over that and get to the point, please?”

“The point,” Barry said, “is that we have a dead guy in a fridge at the CCPD and if there’s one dead Santini, the rest of them aren’t gonna take that lying down. We gotta bump the cold gun up on our list of priorities. The last thing we need is to have any bigger players getting involved in this.”

“Maybe we should start looking a little closer to home,” said Doctor Wells. “My primary concern was that the gun might have left the city; at least we now know that it’s close to hand. Perhaps we should start doing some investigating of our own.”

“I can try, Doctor Wells, but there’s only so much I can do. I can’t interfere with the investigation, I could lose my job over that - ”

“I should be able to access the CCPD’s database from here,” Cisco said, leaning around Caitlin to start typing away at the keyboard. “Just give me...a second… aha!”

They all came to crowd around the screen. Cisco was busily scrolling through the files Barry had been looking at earlier that afternoon; seeing them on a computer screen other than the one at his lab was a little jarring.

“Guys, I’m not sure this is a good idea, I could still get in trouble for this - ”

“Relax, I know how to cover my tracks,” Cisco said, clicking on another folder. “Hey, this looks useful - ”

“Wait, those are the crime scene photos, you don’t wanna see - ”

A very large, close-up image of the slurry remains of the victim’s face appeared on the screen, in gruesome technicolour. It was far worse than Barry remembered it. Bits of the skin were peeling away, cracking like dried mud. Other parts had gone mushy, like spoiled fruit. The mouth gaped open in a silent scream, lips pulled back from the teeth, the eyes receding into the skull.

“That,” Barry said quietly.

Caitlin took an abrupt step back.

“That’s disgusting,” she said.

“It’s remarkable,” Wells said, leaning in closer. “The sheer intensity of the blast… there was some force behind it. It’s an incredible piece of technology, Cisco, notwithstanding the fact that it was used to _kill_ someone.”

Cisco made no response. In fact, Barry wasn’t sure the comment had even registered. Staring at the screen with the look someone might wear whilst witnessing a terrible accident, Cisco had completely clocked out. His gaze was fixated on the photo, but his eyes were unseeing. For a moment, Barry felt the urge to wave his hand in front of Cisco’s face and see if he blinked.

“This is a matter of extreme urgency,” Wells said. “This weapon cannot remain on the streets. Something has to be done about this. Have you had any more success in tracking the gun’s whereabouts, Cisco?”

No answer. Barry started to feel extremely uneasy about the way Cisco was staring at the photo.

“Cisco,” Wells repeated.

“Turn it off,” said Barry.

“Are you okay?” Caitlin asked, touching Cisco’s arm. “Maybe you should step outside for a minute.”

Barry leaned across and switched the monitor off, plunging the screen into darkness.

For a moment, Cisco continued to stare at the screen with that disconcertingly blank look on his face. He didn’t react to Caitlin’s touch, or their concerned voices. It was as if he was still seeing the image in front of him.

Then he turned and rushed out of the room without a word.

“I’ll talk to him,” Barry said, already in pursuit.

Cisco moved fast. It took several minutes before Barry finally found him sitting in the entrance to the pipeline, his legs dangling off the edge. He was staring up at the rows of empty cells. From this distance, Barry couldn’t see any of the metas they were keeping in there. Drawing closer, he waited.

There was no acknowledgement. He wasn’t sure if Cisco hadn’t heard him, or whether he was just ignoring him on purpose. Either way, Barry had no idea what he was supposed to say.

He settled for squeezing in at Cisco’s side, sitting beside him with his own legs hanging off the side. It was kind of a tight fit, and Cisco made no attempt to move up for him. When Barry peeked at his expression, he expected to see tears - but Cisco wore the expression of someone who didn’t have any tears _left._

“I didn’t know what it would look like,” he said.

His voice was raspy. There was something in his hair; it looked suspiciously like vomit, but it didn’t seem like a good time to mention it.

“I never saw a dead person before,” Cisco said. “Except on TV. I guess you’re used to it.”

“I don’t think you ever really get used to it,” Barry said. “You just...learn not to think about it too much.”

“I didn’t really believe it when you said he was dead. I mean, I believed it, I didn’t think you were lying, but I didn’t _believe_ it, you know? It didn’t sink in. And then I saw that picture, and I realised. My gun killed someone. I did that. It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Barry said firmly.

“That’s just it; it is my fault. I built the gun. I let someone steal it. And now some guy is dead and I didn’t even know him, and until I saw the photo I didn’t feel that bad about it, because it didn’t feel real to me. But he was a person. He was alive, and now he isn’t. Because of me.”

“Cisco - ”

“I puked,” Cisco said. “In one of the cells. I’m gonna have to clean that up later.”

“Yeah, um. I think you have some of it in your hair…”

Cisco made a sound that might have been a very weak, humourless laugh. “You’d think I would have thought about it. What a horrible way to kill someone that would be. I never really pictured it when I was building it. I guess I just saw it as a solution to a problem, you know? How do you stop the fastest man alive? You gotta slow him down. To slow down his atoms so they can’t vibrate as quickly, you cool them down. Even when it got stolen, I didn’t think about someone actually using it, to, y’know, hurt anybody. It was bad, because someone stole my tech, and it was the one weapon that could actually stand a chance of stopping _you,_ but it never really registered.

“And now I’ve realised what I’ve done and it’s too late. My tech did that to someone. It froze off someone’s _face._ It’s my fault he’s dead,” Cisco said. “I might as well have killed him myself.”

“You didn’t know what would happen,” Barry said. “You never meant to hurt anybody.”

“Yeah, well. Anakin Skywalker never meant to go over to the Dark Side and look how that turned out.”

“You’re not an evil Sith Lord, Cisco, you’re just a guy who made a mistake.”

“Most people’s mistakes are like, putting salt in their coffee in the morning, or putting a red sweater in a white wash and dying all their clothes pink, not making a weapon that gets stolen and used to _kill someone_.”

“Look,” Barry said. “It’s awful that this happened. Truly. But what’s done is done, man. You can’t sit and beat yourself up over it.”

“Doctor Wells should fire me,” Cisco said. “I don’t deserve to keep working here. I don’t know how you can even look at me, Barry, knowing that I made that thing to hurt _you_. What if that had been you in those photos?”

“It wasn’t. That’s the important thing. Look, it was an accident, Cisco! The thing you made isn’t evil, it doesn’t have a consciousness. On its own, it isn’t an evil thing. The person who’s using it, _they_ are evil. The gun itself, and you, who made it - not evil. Guns don’t kill people; people do. Speaking of which…” Barry smiled at him tentatively. “We still don’t have a codename for our mystery gunman. Got any ideas?”

Cisco sat and stared at his fingers, flexing and interlocking them. For a while Barry thought that it was too soon to be trivialising the issue, that he should have held off - but then Cisco looked up, brushing his hair away from his face.

“I was thinking… Captain Cold.”

“Damn,” Barry said. “I like that one.”

Actually managing a small smile, Cisco said, “Thanks.”

Barry put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll fix this. I promise. Whoever’s using your tech, they won’t get away with it. We’ll catch Captain Cold the same way we would with any other meta, we’ll take the gun, and then we’ll make sure it and the gunman go somewhere where they’ll never hurt anyone again.”

“I hope so,” said Cisco. “But… we don’t have any leads. We don’t have any way of tracking the gun. How are we going to find it?”

“We’ll think of something,” Barry said. “We always do.”

 

~*~

 

When Barry got home later that evening, the apartment was still empty. He wandered around, calling Len's name, but it was no use. He was still alone. Just when he could have used a cuddle and a little TLC. Sighing, Barry went to the kitchen to make a start on dinner.

His grumbling stomach warranted a meal of epic proportions, so he started working on an omelette, using half a dozen eggs and throwing in any kind of filling he could find in the fridge on top of that. Ham, mushrooms, some cheese, a pepper, even some broccoli that was looking sorry for itself. In it all went. The result was a pool of raw egg so large that it would probably have to go into the oven to ensure it would cook all the way through. Barry placed the pan onto the hob, wielded his spatula and got to work.  
  
He'd been cooking for several minutes when the shift came. One minute Barry was alone, and the next Len was in the room. He couldn't have said how it was that he knew the exact second when he ceased to be alone - call it instinct, or perhaps he was just that attuned to Len, his body automatically knowing when he was near. But he knew. 

"Barry.”  
  
"Mm?" Barry asked, making a heroic attempt to flip his monstrous omelette.   
  
The attempt failed. Half the omelette flipped; the other crumbled and collapsed, an eggy avalanche tumbling to the bottom of the pan. Dismayed, Barry stared at the ruins for a second - then he shrugged. Scrambled eggs, then. He shook the pan to mix it all up a bit and calmly carried on, as if it had been deliberate.   
  
Len was looking over Barry’s shoulder. "Exactly what manner of culinary war crime are you trying to commit in my kitchen?"   
  
"I'm making dinner," said Barry.   
  
"You're committing a felony." Len eyed the contents of the pan with great disgust. "What the hell is it?"   
  
"It's an omelette," said Barry, a little offended.   
"It's an atrocity."   
  
Taking the spatula straight out of Barry's hand, Len started scraping away at the burnt bits. Admittedly, it was starting to look kind of crispy, but it was still soggy in the middle. Folding his arms, Barry watched.   
  
"How many eggs went into this?" Len asked, flipping what was left of the omelette with far more success.   
  
"Six," muttered Barry.   
  
“I hope you realise I can't salvage this; it's inedible."   
  
"You could try it," Barry said.   
  
"I could...but if I wanted to die, I could think of less barbaric ways to go about it." Len nudged Barry further away from the frying pan. "How the hell did you manage to screw up an _omelette_ ?"   
  
"There's nothing wrong with it!"   
  
"Barry. It looks like someone chewed up a rubber glove and spat it into your frying pan." Len poked at the middle of the omelette. "Is that broccoli?"   
  
"I like broccoli!"   
  
Len shook his head. "Tragic."   
  
"How was work?" Barry asked, to distract Len from any further criticism of his cooking.   
  
"Busy. Unfortunately I may have committed a massacre. An awful lot of spiders lost their homes and livelihoods in the great cobweb purge of 2014. We will remember their brave sacrifice." Len saluted mockingly with two fingers, and started humming the national anthem under his breath.   
  
Amusedly, Barry leaned against the counter. "Do spiders have a concept of patriotism?"   
  
"Of course," Len assured him. "Spiders are firm believers in the constitution. They're particularly defensive of their right to bear arms. All eight of them."   
  
"Technically, spiders have legs," Barry said, grinning. 

Len made a face at him, clearly giving approximately zero fuck about the finer points of the anatomy of the spider.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in such a good mood," commented Barry. "It's a little disturbing."  
  
"It has been known to happen from time to time. Besides, things are going well at work. I might be in the running for a promotion."  
  
Grabbing a plate from the cupboard over the sink, Len tipped out the disintegrating, slightly burnt remains of Barry's omelette. It landed on the plate with a sound somewhere between a slither and a splat, making Barry's skin crawl. 

"Bon appetit," Len said, placing it on the table.

Without much enthusiasm, Barry grabbed himself a fork and sat down. He had to admit that Len was right; his monster omelette didn't look very appetising. But he couldn't back out now, or Len would make fun of him for weeks. He could cook, that was the most irritating thing! Clearly he was just having a bad day.

"A promotion?" he said, taking a reluctant bite. "You never said."

Len was watching him with evident glee. "Well, it's nothing concrete. It might mean a few more crazy hours, but hopefully I'll be getting my hands less dirty. It's more of a supervisory role."  
"That's great!" Barry said, surprised. "I didn't realise you even _wanted_ a promotion."   
"It's always nice to move up in the world. Besides, the more money I have, the more opportunities I have to spoil you. You know I want you to have the best."   
Barry softened. "I know. Thank you. But you know I don't need any of that. All I need is you." And he didn't much relish the prospect of Len spending even _less_ time at the apartment. Lately it seemed like they'd barely seen each other, aside from at that nightmarish dinner party, or in the middle of a row.   
"Well, it doesn't necessarily mean more work. Just more money. Everybody knows that a really good manager doesn't do anything; he pays other people to do it for him. I can delegate. And in the meantime, I can give you all the things you deserve..." His gaze dropped to Barry's plate. "Stalling?"   
"No."   
"Then eat up." 

Cursing inwardly, Barry put another forkful of omelette into his mouth. That was when he discovered that in spite of its burnt edges, he'd been right in his prognosis that the omelette needed to go in the oven to cook all the way through. He had a mouthful of raw egg.

Barry choked, spitting runny egg and bits of slimy broccoli all over the table. This was too much for Len, who started laughing. That bastard, Barry thought, spitting profusely: he'd known damn well that the thing wasn't properly cooked when he served it up.

Glowering, Barry looked up. His intimidating look was almost certainly ruined by the liquid egg that dripped off the end of his chin.

Grinning, Len said, "And what have we learned?"  
"That you're an asshole?" Barry said, with as much dignity as he could muster. He thought there might be egg coming out of his nose.   
Reaching for a tea towel, Len cheerfully wiped the worst of the egg off Barry's face. "Nope," he said. "We proved that you should learn to swallow your pride, Scarlet, and leave the cooking to me."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some fairly gratuitous violence toward the beginning of the chapter - starts when Barry punches the meta and ends when he runs away, if you'd like to skip it!

It was sad, pathetic and highly embarrassing, Barry reflected, that he was having to resort to hanging around on rooftops in the freezing cold, dressed in a red tripolymer suit, just to spend some quality time with his best friend.

In terms of Barry and Iris’ friendship - or current lack of - very little had changed. She was still avoiding him like a pro whenever possible and being frostier than an ice rink at the times when she actually had to acknowledge his presence. When he was the Flash, however…

If he didn’t know better, he’d have said she was _flirting_ with him.

Actually, if he was being honest with himself, he _knew_ she was flirting with him - he just had no idea how to handle it. He’d seen Iris on the pull enough times to know what that coy smile meant, but that didn’t mean he knew what the hell to do about it. Currently he was trying to gently discourage her - although throwing her off a roof hadn’t done much good last time, so he didn’t think that standing a bit further away was going to make much of a difference - but it didn’t seem to be going so well. The whole thing made him feel kind of icky. Even if she wasn’t practically his sister, she was dating Eddie! If Barry and Iris had been on speaking terms, he’d have shaken her and demanded to know what the hell she thought she was doing. As it was, all he could do was comfort himself with the knowledge that Iris would be completely horrified by her behaviour if she knew who was actually inside the suit.

“You’ve gotta give me something,” she was saying, sauntering closer with her hands in her pockets. She tilted her head back, smiling. “Hobbies. Pets. Name of your childhood best friend. Anything!”

“ _You have to stop writing about me_ ,” Barry said, for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Change the record, Scarlet,” Iris said. “It’s getting a little old.”

In spite of himself, Barry twitched at the sound of her using Len’s nickname for him. It was a bizarre clash of all of his worlds, like the world’s strangest cake being mixed up right in front of him. A dash of Flash business, a heaped spoonful of best friend time and a sprinkling of Leonard Snart just to top it all off.

Iris regarded him curiously. “You don’t like Scarlet?”

“ _I prefer Flash_.”

“You have my friend to thank for that one,” Iris said. “He was the one who told me they were calling you that...I actually think he made it up; I never heard of anyone else using it before I did. But it seems to have caught on. He has this other word, too, for people like you. _Metahumans_. You like it?”

“ _It has a certain ring,_ ” Barry muttered.

“I guess I shouldn’t call you Scarlet,” Iris mused. “That’s what my friend’s boyfriend calls him. Guess it just slipped out. I miss him, you know?”

“ _You guys still aren’t talking?_ ”

Iris folded her arms. “Not until he pulls his head out of his ass.”

“ _Maybe you should forgive him. Life’s too short to hold grudges._ ”

“I don’t wanna talk about Barry,” said Iris. “I wanna talk about you. What else can you do? Aside from scare the crap out of people by running up and down walls like a maniac?”

“ _I was trying to prove a point,_ ” Barry said. “ _You shouldn’t be involved with this stuff. It’s dangerous._ ”

“Again with the broken record. Anyway, don’t lie to me. You were showing off.” Iris was smiling again, her eyes lighting up. “You got someone to impress?”

Embarrassingly, Barry knew full well that he _had_ been showing off. Even with the suit on, she could see right through him as always. Not like he was going to admit it.

“ _You’re putting yourself in danger,_ ” he persisted. “ _You talk about your friend a lot - don’t you think he’d be worried if he found out you were mixed up in all this?_ ”

She rolled her eyes. “Barry’s a worry wart. He’s going to give himself an ulcer. I’m a grown woman; I make my own decisions.”

The way she was eyeing him made him horribly uncomfortable. Did she know she was doing that?

“ _You must have other people who care about you. Parents, siblings. Boyfriend?_ ”

Iris raised her eyebrows. “Maybe. Why are you asking?”

Oh, God. She’d badly misinterpreted his question. Barry was digging himself a hole right to the centre of the earth. Floundering, he tried to salvage things. “ _I’m just saying that the people you care about don’t wanna see you in a body bag. Neither do I._ ”

“You’re getting awful personal there, Flash. You saying you care about me specifically?”

“ _I don’t want you to get hurt,_ ” Barry said.

“I’m a big girl. My dad’s a cop. So’s my boyfriend. I can take care of myself.”

“ _There are some things that a good right hook won’t work against._ ”

“We’ll see,” Iris said. “Bet I could take you.”

“ _You’d have to catch me first._ ”

She moved a little closer. “Is that a challenge, Flash?”

Barry had come out onto this freezing cold rooftop to hang out with his best friend, not spend the whole time struggling to deflect her come-ons. He opened his mouth to come up with some clumsy reply - and was interrupted by the sound of sirens drifting by on the breeze. Cocking his head, Barry listened. Not far, he thought. Maybe a few blocks away. He’d catch up to them easily if he got moving now. Saved by the bell, thankfully.

“ _Duty calls,_ ” he said. “ _Gotta run._ ”

With a crackle, he was off, shooting through several streets with Iris’ cry of outrage echoing in his ears. At first, he thought it was just annoyance at his rather rude departure. Then he remembered he’d left her on the roof.

Cursing, he zipped back to grab her and whip her back into Jitters. For a moment he had her in his arms, and it was almost like a hug, the smell of her perfume greeting him like an old friend, and he missed her so much that it was, in that split second, more of a sharp pain than the usual dull ache.

He left her in the coffee shop and skidded out, trying to breathe past the sudden rush of sadness that he felt at leaving her behind. All this cloak and dagger stuff didn’t suit him.

He had to admit though, from time to time… it could be kind of fun.

 

~*~

 

When Barry arrived at the scene, it was utter chaos. Bullets showered down like hailstones, seemingly having no effect. Sirens screamed, officers bellowed. The first thing Barry did was seize a small boy who was walking completely obliviously into the path of a truck that was speeding straight for him.  
  
Once the boy had been safely deposited back onto the pavement, Barry turned his attention back to the truck, which appeared to be the source of the disturbance. Even as he spun around, the driver slammed on the brakes. Tyres screeched, accompanied by unpleasant rubbery smell in the air like someone was frying a pair of tennis shoes - and then the door was kicked open and a man got out.  
  
Barry took a second to size him up. Judging by the bleary look on his face, he didn't appear to be entirely sober. He was blond, beefy, and grinning all over his face. Apparently being shot at hadn't fazed him at all.  
  
"Step away from the vehicle," Barry called. "You've had your fun."  
  
"And what if I don't?" the man goaded.  
  
"Then I guess I'll have to make you," said Barry.

The man turned around and reached for the door of the truck. Barry braced himself, waiting for the guy to pull out a weapon - but instead he gripped the door in both hands and _pulled._ The door came off like he was peeling the top off a ring-pull can. Gaping, Barry watched the man lift the truck door over his head with a triumphant look on his face.

Then he realised the guy was going to throw it.

Barry barely got out of the way in time; the truck door slammed into the fence behind him and Barry had only just managed to avoid it. This guy wasn't fucking around.

Barry ran at him, fist drawn back. The guy didn't stand a hope in hell of getting out of the way; Barry's punch was about to land when something started to creep across the guy's face. A trickle of something silvery coating his skin.

It was too late to hesitate, to evaluate whatever the hell that stuff was going to do. Barry's knuckles crunched into the guy's cheek.

The first thing he registered was the shock of the impact. It was like he'd plunged his hand into a bucket of icy water. Then the pain hit, and Barry roared. He'd never made a sound like that before, but he couldn't seem to stop. Reeling back, he grabbed his wrist with his good hand. The fingers of his hand were contorted at strange angles. Moving his thumb resulted in pain so intense that a wave of dizziness crashed over him and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out.

Gritting his teeth, Barry fought to remain conscious. His hand had gained its own heartbeat; a sickening pulse that brought fresh waves of pain with every beat - and the guy he'd punched didn't even seem to have _felt_ it. He looked almost amused.

"Is that all you got?" he demanded. Throwing his arms out wide, he shouted, "Thought you were gonna _make_ me!"

Barry was horribly, mortifyingly out of his depth. This was by no means the first time he'd punched someone since becoming the Flash, but usually his speed was more than enough to compensate for his lack of technical ability. He had no idea how to actually fight someone, let alone someone with a metal face. Probably a metal _everything_ , Barry thought, dismayed. One of his hands had already been reduced to a useless lump of meat; if he hadn't broken all four fingers and probably his thumb too, he'd be astonished. Gorge rose in the back of his throat when he looked at it. No human body part was meant to look like that.

"Come on!" the meta was shouting. "What else you got?"

Barry ran at him. It was the stupidest idea he'd ever had; he had no plan, only one functional hand and hitting this guy was like punching a mountain and expecting it to feel the pain, but he had to do _something_ .

The man grabbed the front of Barry's suit.

One good punch in the face and he could say goodbye to all his front teeth. He struggled like a bug caught in a spider's web, every movement made his hand throb sickeningly, and then the man lifted Barry over his head and _threw_ him.  
  
Barry slammed into the abandoned truck with a sound like a firework going off. For a moment he was too dizzy to see.. Black spots danced in front of his eyes; the rest of his vision blurred crazily. The only thing to be said for the impact was that it had momentarily diverted his attention from his hand.  
  
Barry sucked in a breath that rattled around his ribcage and considered it an incredible accomplishment. Breathing was a luxury he'd never appreciated until this moment. Stirring feebly, he tried to push himself up with his good arm - and then the meta came crashing to his side and aimed a kick for his ribs.

The kick had half connected when Barry managed to dodge it, lurching drunkenly to avoid the impact. He wasn't totally successful; his side was suddenly burning too, but he didn't think he'd broken any ribs. Gasping, he tried to stand. He was so dizzy that he could barely focus on the metahuman, with his predatory grin. The world rocked and tilted like he was on a crazy carousel and he didn't know how to make it stop.

"Pathetic," the man sneered.

Barry's hand itched. It seemed bizarre to him that he could register that when there was still so much agony coursing through him, but suddenly it was all he could focus on. There was blood in his mouth.

"You know, I've punched a lot of people in my time," the meta said, eyes glittering with malice, "but none of them ever went down quite so fast as you. Seems like you were born to take a beating, _Flash_ ."

The words made Barry flinch. They struck a familiar chord somewhere in the back of his brain, but his head was thumping so hard and his heart beating so violently that he couldn't focus. He was sure it was important. But he couldn't stop shaking; he was so cold, apart from his broken hand, which burned like hot coals. Tears wet Barry's cheeks as he tried to move his fingers; two of them twitched, the others just radiated agony so fiercely that he abandoned the attempt. Groaning, Barry used the wing mirror of the truck to haul himself into a standing position, sweat trickling down his back.  
  
He'd been afraid before, but not like this. Not this desperate animalistic terror, like a creature backing into the furthest corner of its den while a predator dug its way inside. He had no back-up, no plan. No idea what to do.  
  
There was no winning this fight. He didn't have a hope in hell.

The meta had his fist drawn back for another punch. Panic kicked in, sharp and sudden, everything clear. He could see that metal fist swinging at him in startling definition.

Barry ducked, and the meta's fist slammed into the side of the truck.

Cursing, the man yanked his hand free, but the momentary distraction was all Barry had needed. He _ran_ .

~*~

  
  
Caitlin found Barry flat out in the cortex. The coolness of the floor was an inexplicable relief; it soothed his head and made the unbearable burning in his hand ease off ever so slightly. Barry lay very still. He thought he would quite like to sleep - or faint again, whichever came first.

Caitlin, unfortunately, had other ideas. These ideas involved scolding him, strapping his hand into a brace, wrapping him in four blankets - including an electric one - and then topping it all off with more scolding.  
  
" - Thirteen fractured bones in your hand, a serious concussion, _three_ cracked ribs -"  
  
"Damn, I thought he missed the ribs," Barry mumbled.

God, he wished painkillers worked on him. He wanted to puke. Although maybe that was the concussion. He also wanted grapes, and Leonard Snart's cool hands on his forehead, but neither of those things were possible right then.  
  
"This isn't funny!" Caitlin exploded. "What if he'd hit something vital? What if I wasn't here to patch you up, huh, Barry? What about that?"  
  
"What were you thinking, going up against a strange meta without back-up?" Cisco demanded.  
  
"It was a spur of the moment thing," Barry said, grimacing. Every word made his headache worsen. "I was… off-duty."  
  
"Right, so you just _happened_ to be wandering around the city in the Flash suit when a crime went down?" Cisco said skeptically.  
  
"Of course he wasn't," Caitlin said, folding her arms. "He was visiting Iris again. I hate to tell you this, Barry, but it's kind of weird."  
  
"I miss her," Barry said defensively. "That's all."  
  
"So _call_ her. Don't hang around on the roof in a stupid costume and lie to her face about who's underneath it!"

Barry closed his eyes. Now did not seem like a good time for Caitlin to start pointing out the flaws of his many questionable life choices.

"You're hopeless," Caitlin said irritably. She adjusted his glove slightly. "I'm keeping you in overnight for observation - and to stop you from doing anything stupid."

Barry had known he would have to crash at S.T.A.R Labs anyway; he didn't want Len asking awkward questions about his hand - and then even more awkward questions when it inexplicably healed a few hours afterwards.

“My phone,” he said, groping with his good hand. It was too far away for him to reach without his ribs burning. “Gotta call Leonard.”

“Yeah, if you want him to come straight down here to find out what the hell is wrong with you,” Cisco said, confiscating the phone. “You sound almost as terrible as you look.”

“I’ll text him for you,” Caitlin said. “You need to get some rest. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Barry muttered, and then a low metallic hum made him look up.

Doctor Wells was at his side, looking at him over the top of his glasses. Unable to stand the weight of his gaze, Barry ducked his head and looked away.

“What were you thinking?” Doctor Wells said.

It would actually have been preferable if he had shouted. This cold disappointment was far worse; it made Barry’s skin crawl.

“I had to do something,” he said.

“You had to recklessly endanger your life, and by extension, your own endeavor, by charging into danger with no thought as to what lay ahead?””

“I couldn’t let anybody get hurt without at least trying to intervene!”

“What about _your_ safety, Mr. Allen? Who is going to protect _you_?” Wells leaned in closer. “We at S.T.A.R Labs are dedicating all of our resources and expertise into keeping you alive. It would be appreciated if you would try and make our lives a little easier.”

With that, Wells left Barry to ruminate on just how colossally he’d screwed up, and wait for all of his broken bones to heal over.

 

~*~

 

Work the next day was something Barry couldn’t done without. After an unpleasant night’s sleep, during which Caitlin had woken him at frequent intervals to check on his concussion - and, he suspected, to teach him a lesson - all he wanted to do was go home and pass out on the couch. Unfortunately, instead he was at a briefing, with Captain Singh handing around case notes and glaring at anyone who didn’t seem alert enough. Unfortunately for Barry, Eddie Thawne was standing beside him, giving off his usual level of puppyish enthusiasm and beaming fit to burst. It made Barry look even worse than he would have on his own.

As he handed Barry his copy of the case file, Singh raised his eyebrows. Barry tried not to look sheepish. He was wearing the same rumpled outfit he’d worn the day before, and the dark circles underneath his eyes were a sight to behold.

“Rough night, Allen?” Singh said pointedly.

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Kind of. I’m just kind of beat.”

Eddie let out a giggle. They both turned to frown at him, and he looked away, lips twitching.

Shaking his head, Singh turned away and headed to the centre of the room to address everyone directly. Too fuzzy to question Eddie’s odd behaviour, Barry stood and started flicking through the paperwork without really taking anything in.

“We have an ID on our joyrider from last night,” Singh said. “Guy named Tony Woodward. Now as you can see from your case notes, Woodward…”

But Barry had frozen at the very mention of that name. Woodward. Of _course._ No wonder that phrase he’d used had sounded so familiar; how many times had Barry heard those same words uttered when he was being pummelled?

_Tony Woodward._

The guy had made Barry’s life a misery. For some reason, he had it in for him. For years, Woodward had prodded and poked and punched him, thrown him into lockers, tripped him in the corridor. All infantile, childish stuff, but as a kid it had seemed like a way bigger deal. Once upon a time Barry had enjoyed school; before long it became, in some ways, his own personal purgatory. Not quite hell, because he always knew he was just waiting. Holding out for high school - and then, when Woodward followed him there, graduation. No matter how bad things got, Barry had always known that he’d leave Woodward far behind, eventually. And he had.

Or so he thought.

“Allen!” snapped Singh.

With a jump, Barry came out of his reverie. “Uh, yes, Captain Singh?”

“Are we clear?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Barry said. What the hell had Singh said? He had no idea. All he could hear was Woodward’s taunts echoing round inside his head.

Barry had gone a few metres towards his lab when he realised that Eddie was following him. Turning around, he said, “Uh. Hey, Eddie?”

“That was incredible,” Eddie said, beaming.

“Um. What was incredible?”

“I can’t believe you just made a sex joke in front of Captain Singh,” said Eddie. “You’re so brave.”

Bewildered, Barry said, “A sex joke?”

Eddie leaned in. “You’re a little, ah… _beat_?” He winked. “Don’t worry. Iris told me a little bit about you and Leonard. You like to spice things up a little, huh? Your secret’s safe with me, Allen. But maybe next time don’t make jokes like that in front of the Captain. I’m not sure he’d see things your way.”

Lost for words, Barry could only stand and gape. Eddie thought he was into BDSM? If he were on speaking terms with Iris, he would have killed her.

“I’m so excited we’ll be working together!” Eddie said. “It’s going to be so fun. I know you aren’t really getting along with Iris right now, but that doesn’t mean you and I can’t still be friends, right, Barr?”

“We’re… working… together? You and me?”

“Yeah, like Captain Singh said. He’s paired us together for this case. Maybe you and I could be the next great crime-fighting duo. Like Thelma and Louise. Or Mulder and Scully.”

“Great,” Barry said weakly. God. At a time like this he could really do without the unfaltering enthusiasm of Eddie Thawne. Right now all Barry wanted to do was brood about the reemergence of his childhood nemesis. Instead, he sensed he’d have to sit through hours of conversation about Iris.

“Well what are we waiting for?” Eddie clapped Barry on the shoulder, making him stagger slightly. “Let’s get to work!”

“Yeah,” Barry managed. “Sounds great.”

 

~*~

 

 _What a day,_ Barry thought wearily as he packed up his forensics case. As predicted, Eddie had been blindingly cheerful all day. It had given him a great deal of insight into how Len must have felt when Barry was bouncing around the apartment babbling at a hundred miles per hour.

He’d also stopped off at S.T.A.R Labs to discuss the new development on the case with Cisco and Caitlin, which had involved a whole lot of reminiscing about their own childhood bullies. Barry felt a little justified about being more concerned about Woodward than some kid who used to put gum in Caitlin’s hair, but it had taken a whole lot to get them off the subject. Then Cisco had unveiled his latest invention - a robot he was calling ‘Girder’, the whole purpose of which was to pummel the shit out of Barry in the name of training.

 _Fighting is physics,_ Cisco had said. Barry disagreed. Fighting was just another word for ‘torture’. The stupid robot moved jerkily and at about a tenth of the speed of a normal human being, let alone a speedster, but it had still managed to beat the hell out of him and dislocate his shoulder into the bargain.

Sighing, he closed his case with a snap. Time to go home and get some sleep in a decent bed, hopefully without getting his ass kicked on the way there.

Barry turned around to find Len standing in the doorway, with the ever-present duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. His expression was inscrutable.

“Jesus, you scared me,” said Barry. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come home last night.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I left you a message. I was at S.T.A.R Labs…”

“Again.”

Len stepped out of the shadows. Now his expression was very scrutable indeed: he was _pissed._ Warily, Barry put his papers down.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have called…”

“Might’ve been nice,” Len said icily. “Care to explain why it was so urgent that you spend an entire night with the losers at the nerd-lab? Particularly fascinating DNA sequence, was it? Or did Wells need more help blowing something up?”

“I’ll call next time,” Barry said. “Look, I’ve had a really bad day. Can we at least go home before you start yelling at me?”

“Right, because it’s totally unreasonable to expect a little more than a text to let me know you’re spending the night with a - ” Len paused. His eyes narrowed. “What happened to your face?”

Instinctively, Barry’s hand jumped to his bruised cheekbone. He looked better than he had initially, but Cisco’s robot had pummelled the shit out of him. There was still an ugly mark on his face.

Len was at his side in an instant, tipping Barry’s face to one side to get a better look. His expression went from suspicious to murderous in a nanosecond.

“Who did this to you?”

“Len, it’s nothing, c’mon - ”

“It is not nothing, you have a godawful mark on your face. Tell me who did it, Barry, I swear to god - ”

“Okay, okay, but promise me you’ll chill out!” Barry said, holding his hands up.

Len released him and backed off. Sliding the duffle bag off his shoulder, he gripped it tightly in one hand. Barry looked at the bag and then back up again.

“You’re not going to throw that at me, are you?”

Len let the bag slide to the floor with a thunk. “Quit stalling. What. Happened?”

“Did I ever tell you about Tony Woodward? He bullied me in elementary school. You know the type - idiot jock who peaked in school and was never really going anywhere else in life. He didn’t like me. Most people didn’t, but everyone else just avoided me in the corridors and wouldn’t pick me for their team in gym. Woodward was different. He used to pick on me. Throw me into lockers, stick ‘kick me’ signs on my back, follow me around calling my dad a murderer…”

“Charming,” Len said.

“That guy made my life a misery for years. And now he’s back in town. We had a bit of a run-in. Guess I’m no better at standing up to him now than I was when I was a kid.” Barry shrugged self-consciously. “I’d like to say I got a good swing in before he put me on my ass, but…”

“And why exactly did you spend the night at S.T.A.R Labs instead of coming to me? You know I’d happily have taken care of that asshole for you.”

“That’s exactly why,” Barry said gently. “I can’t let you fight all my battles for me forever. I gotta stand on my own two feet.”

“By the sounds of things, you weren’t standing at all. You were _crawling._ ”

“I thought maybe things would be different now. I’m not a kid any more. But some things don’t change, I guess.”

Len moved in closer again and rested his hands on either side of Barry’s waist. “All you have to do is say the word, and I will hunt him down,” he said. “Woodward will be shitting his own teeth for a month when I’m through with him.”

Barry didn’t want to admit how reluctantly charmed he was by that. “I appreciate that. But actually, there’s another way you can help me. You remember what you were saying the other day, about taking a supervisory role? Not getting your hands dirty?”

“I do seem to recall saying something along those lines…”

Lifting his chin, Barry looked Len right in the eyes. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”

“Oh,” Len said. “Now _that_ would be my pleasure.”

 

~*~

 

Bright and early the next morning, Len and Barry let themselves into a disused back room at the CCPD, which was empty aside from a grubby sandbag and a whole lot of dust. They couldn’t fight at the apartment, Len said; there wasn’t enough space. This seemed reasonable enough to Barry, although he was a little surprised at the location, since Len tended to steer clear of the police station if he could avoid it. The real surprise, however, came when Len unveiled his assistant: Eddie.

If Barry had known that he was going to end up alone in a quiet room with two incredibly attractive men, he supposed he could have done a lot worse than Leonard Snart and Eddie Thawne. Eddie was wearing boxing gloves, a very distracting white vest and a cheeky grin. Meanwhile Len was bare-knuckled, had point blank refused to take off his sweater and leather jacket, and didn’t look at all like he was about to exert himself. There was something effortlessly menacing about him. Whilst Bary couldn’t see him attacking a bag of sand, he could easily imagine him starting a brawl in a bar.

“So aside from the obvious eye candy,” Barry said in a low voice as Len helped him put on his boxing gloves, “why exactly is Eddie here?”

“I mentioned to him that you were hoping to learn how to fight, and he got embarrassingly excited about it. You’d have thought it was his birthday. He did the puppy-dog thing; I couldn’t resist.” Len tightened the velcro on Barry’s glove. “Anyway, I figured I’d never get another chance to see you punch a cop in the face. It’s a lifelong fantasy of mine.”

“I think I’m supposed to be punching the bag.”

“Yeah, but your aim is terrible. If you don’t get Thawne in the face at least once, I for one will be astonished.” Len patted him on the shoulder. “Go get him.”

The actual punching part, Barry was soon to find, did not come around anywhere near as quickly as he’d expected. For a while, Len and Eddie simply circled him, making contradictory comments and shifting him every which-way, trying to correct his stance. Their methods differed; Len’s fighting style was quick and dirty, less polished - but, Barry secretly thought, probably more effective. Where Len learnt to pack a punch like that, Barry didn’t even want to know. Eddie, meanwhile, had actually been taught to box properly and insisted that Barry got the stance just right before he would even consider showing him how to actually hit somebody.

“The thing about fighting,” Eddie said, “is that it’s about timing. So many guys waste time trying to land as many punches as possible, but the real trick is to land one really good punch. That’s what every fight comes down to, in the end. Why waste energy battering your opponent when you can take ‘em down in one swing? ...Leonard. Care to help me demonstrate?”

“My pleasure,” Len said, rolling up his sleeves.

Hastily, Barry grabbed his arm and whispered, “Iris is already mad at me. If you break his face, she might never speak to me again.”

“Relax,” Len told him. “I won’t break him. I might just batter him a little.”

Not greatly reassured, Barry backed off a little to watch them fight.

For a minute, Len and Eddie circled each other. Eddie had his fists up protectively in a manner Barry recognised from Joe’s early attempts to teach him to box; Len had his arms at his sides and one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, Leonard,” Eddie said. “Punch me.”

“After you,” Len said, his cool drawl immediately making Barry wary.

“If you insist,” said Eddie, and swung.

It was a good punch; air hissed between Barry’s teeth and he flinched back in anticipation, but Len had ducked and Eddie’s gloved fist passed harmlessly over Len’s head. His momentum made him stagger a little, caught off balance. Then Len twisted and slammed his elbow into Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie folded like a paper doll, with a very embarrassing ‘ungh!’ He hit the ground, rolled over a little, and lay curled up and panting. Unconcerned, Len took a few steps back.

“Wow,” Eddie groaned. “That was… some right hook.”

“As Detective Thawne so astutely mentioned,” Len said calmly, as if he had not just knocked a man clean off his feet, “it’s all in the timing. It’s also a good idea to land your blows just after your opponent has missed one. They’re already off-balance; makes it easier to knock ‘em down… as Eddie was kind enough to demonstrate.”

Holding out a hand, he helped Eddie to his feet.

“Care to take a turn?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Barry muttered as Len sauntered past him.

Len only smirked, and stood back to watch as Barry got himself into a ready stance.

“I’ll go easy on you, Allen,” Eddie promised. “I wouldn’t expect me to go down so easy this time; Leonard took me by sur - ”

Spurred on by Len’s demonstration, Barry lunged forwards before Eddie had even finished his sentence. He dived, missing the punching part entirely and grabbing Eddie’s legs instead.

They both went down hard. Lying dazedly on top of his opponent, Barry reflected that he’d never expected to become so closely acquainted with Eddie Thawne’s crotch.

Amusedly, Len pulled Barry to his feet and dusted him down. “When I said I’d be teaching you to put someone on their ass, that isn’t quite what I meant.”

“You said you wanted me to hit him,” Barry said sulkily.

“That wasn’t a punch, Barry; you fell over and took him with you.” But Len leaned in and murmured in his ear, “that was the greatest thing you’ve ever done. I’m going to buy you dinner later.” He gave Barry a fond look.

“Okay, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Eddie said brightly, getting back to his feet. “But I did say surprise me. Nice move, Allen. Just… try to keep your face away from my crotch next time.”

“I’ll do my best,” Barry muttered. He’d have to congratulate Iris the next time he saw her. Eddie was fucking _hung._ Then again, he had a feeling that ‘Hey, Iris, I know we’re not talking right now, but congratulations on your boyfriend’s fucking _huge_ dick’ might not be a great ice-breaker.

After the embarrassment of being knocked to the ground twice in rapid succession, Eddie seemed to change his mind about the practical demonstrations and instead started punching the sandbag, which Barry obediently held in position. Eddie cheerfully pummelled the bag, enjoying himself immensely. In a weird way, Barry had to admit he was kind of having fun too. It was nice to just hang out without having to worry about Flash stuff - just him, Len, Eddie, and a big old bag of sand.

“Now you try,” Eddie said. Breathless and a little sweaty, he looked like he was there to model tight white vests. Barry swallowed and took a step back, getting into the stance they’d shown him.

His first punch was a little feeble. Len snorted softly. Cheeks burning, Barry swung and punched again. This one landed a little more successfully, making the bag swing a little before Eddie steadied it.

With an encouraging grin, Eddie said, “Harder.”

Barry punched again, putting a little more weight behind it.

“Harder!”

Two more blows in rapid succession. His breathing was starting to speed up. Shifting his weight, he punched again.

“Harder!” Eddie commanded, still grinning.

A pointed cough made them both swivel around. Arms folded, Len was watching them with his eyebrows raised.

Eddie smiled sheepishly. “Right. Sorry.” He turned back to Barry. “Give it another punch, Allen. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

After giving Len one last, embarrassed glance, Barry returned his attention to the bag. Eyeing it up, he got himself into a better position. He felt kind of silly just standing around whacking the sandbag like that, the gloves turning his fists into clumsy paws, but he gamely got into his ready stance, feet spread apart, fists drawn up to his chest.

And he _punched_.

His fist connected with the bag, slamming into the fabric and tearing straight through with a faint ripping sound. All of a sudden he was knuckle-deep in sand. Grit trickled steadily to the ground with a hiss, pooling at his feet.

They all stared at the destruction he had wrought. Eddie’s sandbag was starting to resemble a deflated bean-bag. Barry had used his speed completely by mistake. He’d never meant to put quite that much force behind it.

Looking up, Barry met Len’s gaze. His boyfriend was watching with a proud smirk on his face.

“It... must’ve had a weak seam,” Barry said, backing away from the bag.

Eddie took a step back. Then he put one gloved hand on Barry’s shoulder.

“Now _that,_ ” he said, “was a punch.”

 

~*~

 

Eventually, after they’d cleaned up all the sand and Barry was aching all over, they all left the precinct together. Barry held Len’s hand. He hadn’t punched Eddie in the face after all, but Len didn’t seem to care. His thumb stroked lightly over Barry’s reddened knuckles. It was good to have Len’s approval, even if it was for something he probably shouldn’t have approved of.

“Well, I’m parched,” Eddie said as they headed down the steps together. “Anybody fancy a drink?”

“Sure!” said Barry. Hanging out with Eddie lately had been unexpectedly fun.

Too late, he remembered Len, who was hardly the social type. Ruefully, he glanced across at him.

“...Leonard?”

Len astonished him by saying, “Sure. Why not?”

“Great!” Eddie said, beaming all over his face. “There’s a really nice bar a few streets from here.”

“Just one small problem,” said Len. “I left my wallet back at the apartment.”

“I can pay for you, it’s no big deal,” said Eddie. Evidently he’d never seen quite how extensively Len could drink.

“It’s fine, it’ll only take a few minutes. Besides, I owe Barry dinner.”

“Hurry back,” Barry said, kissing him on the cheek.

Len gave a scornful look at his reticence and pulled him in for a proper kiss. When they parted, Barry was blushing slightly, more pleased than he cared to admit. Usually Len wasn’t big on PDA - he put his hands anywhere and everywhere, but that was just to stake a claim. He usually put a blanket ban on the intimate stuff until they were safely behind closed doors. The fact that he felt comfortable enough around Eddie to drop his barriers a little made Barry happier than he could say.

“Keep an eye on him for me,” Len told Eddie. “The little bastard has a habit of running into trouble.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Eddie promised, and he put a hand on Barry’s shoulder and led him down the street to the bar he’d mentioned.

It was a very Eddie-esque place - cheerful, cosy, very cute. He couldn’t picture Len in there at all, but he was sure things would all fall into place when he got back. Eddie bought him a beer - much to his chagrin, he couldn’t think of a polite reason to refuse it - and the two of them sat together enjoying the peace.

“I’m sure Len won’t be too long,” said Barry.

“He’s a great guy,” Eddie said warmly.

“He is,” Barry agreed. “Uh. I’m sorry that he, y’know, punched you so hard. I think he was a little overenthusiastic. And then I tackled you and knocked you over on top of that, so… I just wanted to apologise.”

Eddie waved him away. “Nah, it’s cool. It was fun. Besides, I’ve always kind of wanted an attractive guy to throw me around like that, so.” He raised his glass. “He’s very assertive. You’re a lucky guy.”

Barry gaped at him. For a moment, Eddie didn’t seem to realise he’d said anything strange. Then he noticed that Barry’s mouth was hanging wide open.

“I’m sorry, was that inappropriate? I know he’s your boyfriend. I could kick myself sometimes; I have a terrible brain-to-mouth filter.”

“I...you like men?” Barry said incredulously.

“Is it not obvious?”

“No! I thought you were straight!”

Eddie giggled. It was adorable. “I’m actually bisexual. Yet another reason for the heinous bullying in high school. Short, fat, son of the politician who took away the jobs of half the fathers in the town I lived in, _and_ bi? I didn’t have a hope in hell of getting through school unscathed. I guess I try to keep my sexuality on the down low, but I had no idea it was actually working.”

“Does Iris know?”

“Of course,” Eddie said, clearly a little insulted. “I tell Iris everything. Besides, we have a list.”

“A list?”

“Of people we’d have a threeway with,” Eddie explained. “I know that’s a stereotype. It’s purely hypothetical. But it’s all fun and games. We also point out cute guys on the subway to each other and see if we’re attracted to the same people. She’s very understanding about it.”

“Who’s on the list?” Barry said curiously.

Eddie blushed a little. “Okay, don’t freak out. ...Captain Singh?”

Barry almost spat out his drink. “ _Singh_?”

“I guess I just have a thing for authority figures. You may have noticed how I let Iris boss me around.”

Barry felt a little ill at the very idea of crushing on Singh, who, whilst not unattractive, was his _boss_. He supposed if you were into mean comments, scowling and an icy attitude, maybe Singh would be kind of attractive…

Suddenly, he realised he’d just listed three of Leonard Snart’s primary traits and had to frantically clear his mind before he accidentally started talking himself into having a thing for the captain. He _really_ hoped he didn’t have a type.

“I also really like Oliver Queen,” Eddie said dreamily, stirring his beer around with a little plastic stick. “He was at your party, right? I swear, I nearly died.”

“Ooh, a near-death experience? Now things are getting interesting,” Len said, dropping onto the barstool beside him. “What’d I miss?”

“Len!” Barry said. “That was fast.”

“Turns out I had a bank card in my pocket,” Len said, putting his drink down on the table; a beer with condensation glistening on the sides. He pushed a glass of lemonade at Barry, who accepted it gratefully.

“I already got Barry a drink,” Eddie protested.

Len shrugged. “Well, now he doesn’t have to get up for another one.”

It was an excuse; Barry knew that Len had picked up on his recent avoidance of alcohol and was helping him out. He’d never even questioned the change, just accepted it. Barry felt a warm glow in his stomach that was nothing to do with the beer.

“So,” Len said. “What riveting conversational topics did you cover while I was gone?”

“Eddie was telling me he has a crush on Oliver Queen,” said Barry.

“Ugh,” Len said. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dude,” Eddie said. “Have you seen his jawline? He’s gorgeous.”

Len’s eyebrows had flown up alarmingly in response to being addressed as ‘dude’, but he said mildly, “I prefer my men with a little more brain than brawn. Queen can’t even find his own wallet these days; a man who loses his own company is not the kind of man I can bring myself to be attracted to.”

“Barry,” Eddie said. “Come on. You can’t say you’re not attracted to him a _little_ bit.”

“Trust me,” Barry said. “He’s really not my type.”

“Strong, silent, kind of an asshole? Sounds like your type to me,” Eddie said, with a sly glance at Len.

“Bite me, Thawne,” Len said, which struck Barry as a dangerous thing to say given that Eddie had confessed to being attracted to him while he was out of the room.

“But come on,” Eddie insisted. “Oliver’s gorgeous. When I saw him walk in, wearing that suit…” He shook his head admiringly. “I bet he has an amazing body.”

“He does,” Barry said, “but - ”

Len put his glass down and turned on him. “And how would _you_ know?”

“Uh…” said Barry. There was no way to recount the story of how he’d seen Oliver shirtless and subsequently saved his life without also blowing the fact that Oliver was the Arrow.

Unfortunately they were both looking at him. He suspected that Eddie was looking for tips on how to get a glimpse of shirtless Oliver Queen himself. Len, however, did not look happy.

“I never told you the story of how Oliver and I met, did I?”

“You got hit by lightning a few hours after you came back from Starling City. I dare say the story never came up.”

“Let’s just say he was in a bad way,” Barry said. “I helped him out.”

“Was there alcohol involved?”

“There might have been,” Barry said. It wasn’t a total lie; with Oliver, you could never be sure.

Sitting back in his seat, Len gave them both a knowing look.

“I don’t care, I still think he’s gorgeous,” said Eddie.

“Ugh,” Len said. “Don’t kid yourself. Queen’s no oil painting. That friend of his on the other hand…”

Barry stared at him. “ _Diggle_?” Dig did not seem at all like Len’s type.

“ _No,_ ” Len said. “The blonde one.”

“Felicity? _Ew_ , Len.”

“No, he’s right,” said Eddie. “Felicity’s gorgeous too.”

“You’re both gross. Felicity’s my friend.”

“Leonard’s my friend; I can still acknowledge that he’s attractive,” Eddie said.

“We’re not friends,” said Len.

“Of course we are. We’re drinking together in a bar. That’s what friends do.”

“Excuse me; I have to leave immediately,” said Len.

Grinning, Eddie cuffed him on the shoulder. “You’re such a kidder! I never knew you had such a sense of humour.” Then he cocked his head like a puppy. “Hey, is that Joe?”

They all swivelled in their seats. Sure enough, Joe was taking a seat at a table on the other side of the room, carrying two drinks. Seeing Joe in a bar was bizarre enough; usually he did his drinking on the sofa at home, with a takeaway on the table in front of him. But the really weird thing about it was that he had a drinking partner.

“Doctor Wells?” Barry said, bewildered.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re not attracted to Wells,” Len said. “I had my suspicions, but that would be a new low, even for you.”

“No, I mean - that’s Doctor Wells!”

Wells had parked his wheelchair by Joe’s table - _at_ Joe’s table, Barry realised - and they were talking. Barry stared at them. A more odd pair of drinking companions had never been seen, and this was speaking as someone who was seated at a table with Eddie Thawne and Leonard Snart.

“Are they having a drink together?” Eddie said. “I didn’t think Joe _liked_ Doctor Wells.”

“He doesn’t,” Len said. “He hates the creepy asshole.”

“Doctor Wells isn’t creepy!” Barry said.

“He is a little disconcerting,” Eddie said, which was probably the closest he’d ever come to saying something mean about someone. “But if Joe doesn’t like him, why are they having a drink together?”

“Well,” Len said, and he downed the rest of his drink. “Only one way to find out.” He got up.

Barry grabbed his arm. “You can’t go over there!”

“Watch me.”

“You’ll blow our cover!”

Len rolled his eyes. “Please, what cover? You’re both legal. You can drink in a bar whenever you want. Do you want to find out what they’re saying, or not?”

“Len, they’re not going to appreciate you butting into their conversation. Neither of them like you.”

“Trust me,” Len said. “They won’t even know I’m there. Watch and learn.”

He made a beeline for Joe’s table. Hiding behind his fingers, Barry scarcely dared to watch. This was not going to end well.

 

~*~

 

There was a certain art to eavesdropping, just as there was to many of Len's other more shady past-times. The rules, he found, were not dissimilar to the rules of being a good thief. Blending in. Misdirection. A certain ability to hide in plain sight. Len had been a master for as long as he could recall; it was a critical skill in the household he'd grown up in. He learned to stay out of his father's way, to pilfer the odd note from his wallet or the coffee table to feed Lisa when Lewis forgot. To linger in the shadows and hear more than he should.  
  
He'd used one facet of that skill already that evening. It was true what he had said to Barry; there _was_ a bank card in his pocket. Of course, it wasn't his. Len had intended to go home for his wallet, but on his way he'd spotted an old man huffing and puffing at the ATM, punching his number in with painful slowness. It seemed rude to ignore such an opportunity, Len had thought, stepping behind him as if to wait in line. A quick peek over the guy's shoulder to read his PIN number, and a flex of sneaky fingers into his pocket as the guy turned away, and Len was suddenly in possession of the very healthy bank balance of a Mr. Jeremiah Jackson. Barry would definitely be getting that dinner he'd been promised.  
  
Len selected a table a fair distance from Joe's and sat with his back to the two men. Far enough that they wouldn't bother to look over at him, close enough to overhear them. He flashed a twenty at the bartender, who came over with a fresh drink. Lounging back in his chair, Len listened.

"Very unlikely," Wells was saying. "The particle accelerator was a revolutionary piece of technology."  
  
"Yeah, that's what I figured," Joe said. "I guess that kind of thing wasn't around fourteen years ago... although speaking of which, there are a few other things that weren’t in this city back in those days. Such as yourself, for instance.”  
  
Wells' tone sharpened. "I don't know what exactly it is that you are insinuating, Detective West, but - "  
  
"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm insinuating. It seems like a hell of a coincidence, don't you think? You move town, and a month or so later, Nora Allen winds up dead?"  
  
Slowly, Len  lowered his drink to the table.  
  
"I've been a cop for a long time," said Joe. "Long enough to make me stop believing in coincidences. Why did you move to Central City, Doctor Wells?"  
  
"I had my reasons."  
  
"Care to elaborate?"  
  
"Forgive me, Detective, if I don't. I am getting the distinct impression that this is not an official investigation, given by the beer and the fact that you haven't offered me the right to an attorney. If you happen to gain official jurisdiction to question me, by all means, ask me anything you like. I'll tell you what you want to know. In the meantime..."  
  
There was a metallic sound. Len saw movement in the reflection of his pint glass. Nothing clear, but it sounded like Wells was leaving.  
  
"Tess Morgan," Wells said, his voice hard. "Look her up."  
  
Len had every intention of doing just that. He was careful not to glance up as Wells steered the chair past him, but his gaze flicked over to the doorway as the man left. Wells’ spine was rigid, and he didn’t look back.

Joe had done a great job of pissing him off. Len kind of wanted to congratulate him. Wells had spent months being smug and passive-aggressive in equal measure whenever Len came to visit Barry in his coma; Len would have loved to goad Wells a little himself. But implicating him in Nora Allen’s murder…

The first decision Len made was not to tell Barry what he’d just heard. Barry thought the sun shone out of Wells’ ass; if he thought Joe suspected him, he’d be deeply confused. Worst of all, he might jeopardise the investigation by questioning Wells himself.

The news that Wells had come to town just a month or two before Barry’s mom was murdered was deeply shady.

Could be a coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, he thought he’d like to do some investigating of his own before he talked to Barry about what he’d heard.

He returned to Eddie and Barry’s table, where the two were both eagerly waiting for him to tell them what he’d heard.

“So?” Barry said. “What was it all about? Why did Wells leave so suddenly?”

“Your stepfather’s trying to get Wells’ help in investigating your mother’s murder,” Len said.

Eddie frowned. “Joe’s investigating Barry’s mom’s murder? I thought that was a closed case.”

“It was,” Barry said. “We’re trying to reopen it. Joe asked Wells for help? What did he say? Is Wells going to help him?”

“Seems like he was a little reluctant to get involved in an unofficial investigation. Can’t say I blame him.”

“Maybe I should talk to him. We could use all the help we can get if we’re going to prove my dad’s innocent.”

“You want my advice? Don’t get involved,” Len warned. “It’s one thing for Joe to get involved in this, although one could argue that he’s too close to the case himself - but if you go wandering in? That could blow the whole investigation. The last thing your dad needs is to have his case blown apart because you accidentally stepped in and screwed up a lead. Joe’s a detective. Let him figure this out.”

“Leonard’s right,” Eddie said. “You’re too close to the case; they won’t trust your objectivity.”

“I don’t wanna be objective, I wanna get my dad out of prison!”

“I know,” Eddie said soothingly, “but you should let Joe do his job. He knows what he’s doing. If Wells can help, Joe will figure out a way to get him on your side.”

Barry downed the rest of his beer before saying darkly, “Yeah, well last time Joe ‘did his job’, my dad ended up in prison. For fourteen years. So forgive me if I don’t have the greatest confidence in what he’s doing right now.”

“Try not to worry,” said Eddie. “Things will all work out in the end. They always do.”

Len had his doubts about that. Judging by the look on Barry’s face, he didn’t agree with Eddie’s disgusting optimism either.

The real question, Len thought, was this: who the hell was Tess Morgan? And what relevance did she have to Barry’s mom’s murder?

Right now, there was no way to know. But as soon as he was alone, at a loose end and with a decent internet connection, he intended to find out.


	22. Chapter 22

Barry skidded around a corner, took a brief second to check that no one was watching him, and then  _ ran _ .

What had started off as a fairly routine crime scene investigation - albeit with Eddie in tow - had somehow devolved into chasing after a fugitive who had high-tailed it out of there the second they started asking questions about Woodward. In a way, Barry was relieved. Their blossoming friendship had opened Eddie up to making constant conversation about  _ everything.  _ Today’s main topic of conversation had been Iris, who Barry did not particularly want to discuss, but it had also encompassed pointing out every single member of the police force to ask if Barry thought they were cute or not, and he had also continued to offer Barry fighting tips. Sweet as it was, Barry had been starting to think about putting those tips to practical use and punching Eddie in the face just to shut him up. Chasing after a fugitive ironworker was a welcome reprieve.

Without using his speed he hadn’t a hope in hell of catching up to the guy, and he didn’t think Eddie did either - not in a fancy suit, and a few precious seconds wasted on standing in shock as the guy barrelled past them. So Barry cheated. He zipped down a side alley, bursting out in front of the fugitive just as the man appeared, Eddie in pursuit.

Barry got into position, shifting his feet into the stance Eddie had showed him. His speed still in overdrive, he could see the shock start to cross Eddie’s face as he spotted Barry, and the fear on the eyes of the ironworker. Barry clenched his fists. Thumbs on the outside. The man was still rushing straight at him, moving too fast to evade him. They were on a direct collision course. 

Drawing his arm back, Barry punched the guy right in the jaw.

His fist connected with a thunk that made him gasp in shock, and then the guy lurched back and hit the ground sprawling. Gasping, Barry staggered back and shook his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers. This time he didn’t seem to have broken anything - but it still fucking  _ hurt.  _

Eddie skidded to a halt, flipped the guy over and whipped a set of handcuffs out of his pocket. Within seconds the guy was restrained; Eddie hauled him to his feet and then gave Barry an admiring look.

“Nice right hook, Allen. Clearly you took what I said on board.”

“Ow,” gasped Barry, still shaking his hand.

“How’d you get in front of us?” Eddie demanded, giving a yank on his captive’s cuffs as the man tried half-heartedly to pull free.

“Uh… shortcut,” said Barry.

Shrugging it off, Eddie turned his attention back to the man he’d grabbed. Barry thanked his lucky stars that Eddie was so chilled out; Len would have had approximately forty more questions for him in that situation.

“Okay, why did you run?” Eddie demanded. He gave the guy a shake. “What do you know about Woodward?”

It was remarkable, Barry thought, how Eddie could be a hyperactive ball of sunshine the next minute, and every bit the big bad cop the next. That, Barry supposed, made him the good cop. He tried to muster a pleasant expression and act like he hadn’t just popped up out of nowhere and socked the guy in the jaw.

“I swear to god, it was an accident!” the man was shouting. “Nobody ever meant it to happen - Woodward had a screw loose! Loads of people were getting laid off, but he took it so  _ personally -  _ ”

“Start from the beginning,” Eddie ordered. “Tell me exactly what happened. And try to breathe while you’re at it.”

The man licked his lips. He was shaking all over. “Okay, okay - it happened ages ago. Nine or ten months. The same time that science thing happened in Central City. Woodward was never that great at his job, and he was trouble. Loads of guys were getting laid off,” he said pleadingly. “Woodward got his pink slip like everybody else, but he didn’t take it so well. He started a fight. Me and the guys - we were just trying to restrain him, okay! We never meant - it was so - ” He swallowed convulsively. “But he fell. Into a vat full of molten scrap. There was nothing we could  _ do,  _ man, it was all so fast  -”

Eddie was looking at Barry with evident alarm. Barry stared back at him with what he hoped was an appropriately mystified expression. 

“You’re coming down to the station,” Eddie told the man. “And you’re going to have a  _ lot  _ of questions to answer.” With one last glance at Barry, he started leading the arrestee back down the alleyway to the car.

Barry was about to follow when his phone rang. “Hey, Joe,” he said when he picked up. “What’s happening?”

“You need to get down here right now,” Joe said. “It’s Iris.”

There was an unpleasant squeezing sensation around Barry’s abdomen, like something contracting around his stomach. “Iris? Is she okay, what happened?”

“She’s fine,” Joe said, “this time. But she just had a run-in with Tony Woodward.”

 

~*~

 

Barry couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this angry.

Woodward had made his life hell for years. He’d pummelled the shit out of Barry with ease, in spite of his powers; embarrassed him in front of the police force, made the entirety of S.T.A.R Labs mad at him, and almost caused him to get into a fight with Leonard. Barry could handle all of that. He wanted to throw Woodward off a bridge and spit over the side to follow - but he could deal with it.

But now he’d gone after Iris.

She seemed unperturbed by the whole thing, but who knew how much of that was an act? Now they weren’t on speaking terms, he found he was nowhere near as fluent in Iris as he used to be. Once upon a time he never needed to ask what she was thinking: he just  _ knew.  _ But when he’d gone to her to ask what happened, she’d barely even looked at him. Explained in a monotone about how Woodward had approached her, chatted her up - that made Barry’s blood boil; he knew how guys like Tony Woodward talked to women - and then threatened her. Crushed her phone like it was nothing. Now she was carrying an old pink flip-phone she hadn’t used since high school, and Joe had put a police detail on her to keep her safe. Unbeknown to him, Eddie had done the exact same thing, so there were cops around the West house constantly, circling like wolves.

It wouldn’t be enough. 

Which was why Barry was going after Woodward, and this time he wouldn’t let it end the way it had last time. 

He’d visited Iris in full Flash gear; there was no resistance from the cops, which only solidified his belief that having police watching her wouldn’t do any good. This was a metahuman problem. And Iris had given him a solid tip-off: Woodward had boasted about having a place in West Keystone. That gave Barry a new advantage. He knew where Woodward was. He had the element of surprise. And he had a whole lot of rage to burn up. 

Kicking his speed up a gear, he ran faster. Woodward was going to rue the day he ever laid eyes on Iris West.

 

~*~

 

Tiredly, Len pushed away his laptop and rubbed his eyes with his hands. He’d spent several hours looking up Tess Morgan, and not yielded any of the results he’d expected. In fact, he hated to admit it, but he almost felt  _ sorry  _ for Wells now he’d done some digging. This was not a welcome feeling; pity was not an emotion Len liked to tolerate. It kept company too closely with remorse. 

Tess Morgan was Wells’ dead wife.

Died in an accident, according to the various articles Len read. An accident which Wells had survived. Their car had flipped; Morgan was pronounced dead at the scene, leaving Wells to crawl free of the debris, covered in blood but otherwise unscathed… aside from the fact that he’d just lost the love of his life. Taken from him in a screech of brakes and the space of a heartbeat.

Frowning, Len steepled his fingers. He knew something about that kind of loss; had come painfully close to experiencing it himself. Seeing Barry lie in a coma day after day had been bad enough, but losing him forever? It wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine it: on the contrary, he could imagine it all too well. The gaping hole that would leave, the constant blinding agony of having a piece of you lost for good. Like losing a limb, or a vital organ. No wonder Wells was such a coldhearted, standoffish bastard.

Tess Morgan had died shortly before Wells moved to Central. Presumably those two things were linked; some therapist probably told him to do it. Uproot himself, find new surroundings, blah blah blah. Morgan had been smart, according to the articles. ‘A terrible loss to the scientific community’, journalists claimed. None of them mentioned what a terrible loss it was for Wells.

No wonder Wells had stormed out like that when Joe questioned him. If it had been Len, he’d have punched the detective in the jaw for good measure. Shaking his head, he switched tabs. 

He had a few new Flash articles open, and Iris’ blog. What he liked about Iris was that it wasn’t necessary to partner up with her to find out what she knew; it was all up there on her blog in black and white. There were a few articles he’d missed, which he scrolled through with some interest. Nothing concrete, though. Mostly speculation. Then he got to her most recent post. Just a few words. Len’s forehead creased.

**I HAVE SOME INFORMATION ABOUT SOMEONE YOU’RE LOOKING FOR. YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME.**

Now what was  _ that  _ all about?

That was when it hit him. Iris wasn’t just  _ writing  _ about the Flash. She was in contact with him as well.

Len swore. Just as he’d dissolved his alliance with Iris, she’d gone and landed herself the best lead yet. Fucking typical. If the girl had any principles whatsoever, she’d slam the door in his face if he tried to get anything else out of her…  _ and  _ she’d tell Barry, and that was just a whole new kind of mess.

He wasn’t totally out of options; he could hijack their rendezvous somehow, if he could figure out where the hell they were meeting. Not Joe’s house, for sure. West was so straightforward, he’d probably take one look at the Flash and shoot him just to put the conversation back on his level. Plus, he was crazy protective. Len was pissed enough about his adopted son dating a felon; if he found out his daughter was hanging around with a lunatic vigilante in a red bondage outfit, he’d have more than a few things to say about it. If he’d been feeling really petty, Len might have tipped Joe off about the blog post, but he figured there was no point in making things harder for Iris when there was still a chance he could twist things to his own advantage. A little more sleuthing and this could work well for him.

Shaking his head, he closed down all his tabs, erased his history and then pushed back from the table. Still no sign of Barry, which was becoming a familiar sensation. Didn’t make it sit any better with him. It made it easier to do research, or invite Mick around to plan jobs without worrying about Barry catching them at it… but once upon a time Barry had been part of the furniture, always hanging around in the kitchen or on the couch, filling the apartment with his constant chatter. Once upon a time Len had found that grating, but now he missed it.

At a loss for what else to do, he called Mick. Always rough; always reliable; always there when he called. Unlike some people. Sara, for example: when was the last time he’d heard from her? She’d moved back to Starling City to be with her sister, and he hadn’t had so much as a text in weeks. Typical.

“It’s me,” Len said, as if anyone else would be calling. Mick had even fewer acquaintances than he did. “How do you feel about robbing an ATM?”

“Can I melt it with my gun?” Mick demanded.

“And burn all the money? No. But you  _ can  _ set fire to the cop car that comes to investigate.”

Mick rumbled approvingly. “Roast piggy… sign me up.”

“We can have ourselves a barbecue,” Len agreed. “Suit up and meet me on Park Avenue in twenty.” He hung up.

As soon as he’d put down the phone he was moving, heading into his old bedroom to grab his parka out of the closet. Out of sight was out of mind as far as he was concerned, and he didn’t want Barry to put two and two together if descriptions of a crook in a navy blue parka started circulating at the CCPD. These days Len was a lot better at not getting caught red handed - or blue coated, as it were - but there was only so much unwanted attention you could avoid.

For the most part Len was willing to behave himself unless he started running out of money, but Barry’s constant absence was making him itchy. Besides, he wasn’t just going to hang around the house waiting for Barry to come back. That would be pathetic.

Slowly, he pulled the cold gun out from underneath the bed. At a loss for anywhere better to put it, he tended to alternate its location. He felt a little ill at the thought of Barry finding it, but there were dust-bunnies and hundreds of DVDs under this bed, and little else, so he kept the gun wrapped in a towel and shoved right to the back, and on a regular basis he went in to check it was still there. Sometimes he kept it in the back of the old closet, or under the squeaky floorboards in the hallway. He’d stuffed it down the back of a chest of drawers once, when Barry went through a short-lived phase of cleaning with a vengeance. On occasion he even left it at Mick’s place, which was by far the most sensible option. But he didn’t like having it too far away. It was like losing a tooth: he was constantly aware of the gap.

Lovingly, Len ran his fingers over the gun. His pride and joy, gleaming slightly, always ready to oblige. Well-worth the new scar he’d gained in order to procure it.

Len straightened up, blew a speck of dust off the barrel of the gun, and then slung it over his shoulder. He was on his way out when he remembered that he should probably leave Barry a note or something to let him know he was leaving. 

For one slightly unkind moment, he thought about just walking out anyway - after all, Barry had left him alone the other night with nothing more than a tiny text to let him know that he wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere. But, sighing, he grabbed the notepad they kept by the phone and scribbled a quick note.

_ Back soon. L. _

He had the front door open and was halfway out when he stopped. 

Closing his eyes, Len sighed. He was getting too fucking soft. But he turned around, picked the pen back up, and modified his message.

_ Back soon. Love you.  _

Shaking his head, Len dropped the pen and headed out the front door. Yet another incident he was going to take to his grave. If Mick found out he left sappy love notes for Barry before going out to commit a robbery, he’d never hear the end of it.

 

~*~

 

Barry was no stranger to near-death experiences since becoming the Flash. Since the second that lightning had struck him, he and death had become close acquaintances. He’d been resuscitated without cause, shot at, beaten up by crazed clones, come close to being blown up… he and death were rubbing shoulders on a regular basis. 

But this particular incident was a close call, even for him. Cisco and Caitlin had dug him out from underneath a huge block of concrete that Tony Woodward had dropped on top of him, and now Barry’s whole body felt like one big bruise. He was battered, his head ached, he felt like he might have re-broken his ribs (although Caitlin had patched him up and assured him that aside from being an idiot, he was fine) and now Doctor Wells was tearing him a new one,  _ again. _

He’d thought Wells was angry the first time he went after Woodward. The second time, however, was far worse. Wells had gone from shouting to a cold, razor sharp fury that slashed at Barry’s defences, leaving him flayed open all over. Woodward had beaten the crap out of him,  _ again.  _ It was his fault; he’d been too angry to focus on anything Len and Eddie had taught him, had made the same stupid mistakes again and in the end he hadn’t helped Iris  _ or  _ stopped Woodward. All he’d done was proven that once again, his childhood bully had got the better of him.

“You knew full well that we hadn’t yet devised a solution to stop Woodward, so you switched off your comms, went after him yourself, and yet again jeopardised everything we do here for the sake of your own childish vendetta,” Wells said coldly. “Do you have an ounce of self-preservation in your body, Mr. Allen, or do you take some perverse enjoyment from almost getting yourself killed?”

Cisco and Caitlin couldn’t seem to make eye contact. Barry clenched his fists, gripping the fabric of his borrowed sweater. The last thing he wanted was Doctor Wells scolding him like an errant child.

“Your safety is paramount, not only in terms of our research but for the safety of this city. We told you we would figure out a way to handle Woodward, but you thought you knew best, you didn’t want to wait, and so you put this entire city in danger. We have no way to combat these metahuman threats without you.” Wells took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Your feelings for Miss West notwithstanding - ”

“I don’t have any feelings for Iris,” Barry said firmly. “She’s my friend. And I would have gone after him regardless.” Getting to his feet, he said, “Woodward made my childhood a misery! Considering how much it sucked anyway, that’s a pretty big accomplishment. As a kid, all I wanted to do was make Woodward pay for everything he did to me. Now I have powers, and I still can’t beat him! He’s still torturing me just like he did when we were kids. I’m the Flash now, and I still can’t lift a finger against my school bully. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. You seriously think I’d let him go after my best friend without at least  _ trying  _ to stop him?”

“I think you need to think more carefully about the consequences of your actions,” Wells said coolly. “While you were off putting yourself at risk, Cisco was working out a way to stop Woodward that isn’t going to get you killed. Cisco?”

Cisco hurried forwards. “I did some calculations. Any material can be compromised if you hit it at a high enough velocity. If you hit Tony at the exact right angle and speed, taking density and atomic structure into account, you should be able to take him down.”

Barry’s stomach fluttered. “How fast do I have to go?”

Cisco tapped at his tablet. “Based on the metal’s tensile strength, if we factor in dermal pressure and air temperature…” He mumbled to himself for a few more seconds, his fingers flying across the screen. “You’d need to reach a speed of mach 1.1 - that’s roughly eight hundred miles an hour.”

Barry’s heart skipped and sank like a poorly skimmed stone. “I’ve never gone that fast.”

“Yet,” said Doctor Wells. “You’re more than capable.”

“If you go that fast,” Cisco said, “you’ll create a sonic boom _ \-  _ which, for the record, would be  _ awesome.  _ You’d need a straight shot for the runup - 5.3 miles, to be precise. But if you can hit Woodward just right at that speed,  _ bam _ !” He grinned. “Boom, baby. You’d take him  _ down _ .”

“And if you  _ don’t  _ hit him right,” Caitlin said, “you’ll shatter every bone in your body.”

Shakily, Barry breathed in. It was a frightening thought… but not as frightening as the thought of letting Woodward get away. Allowing him to rampage and do whatever the hell he liked. 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Barry. “I know Woodward. He doesn’t have a decent bone in his body. If he’s allowed to get away with this, he won’t stop. He’ll just keep taking anything he wants, hurting anyone who stands in his way… he’s evil, Caitlin. We can’t let him go. I have to try to stop him.”

“Please, Barry,” Caitlin said. “Doctor Wells is right. You’re not thinking rationally about this. Woodward hurt you when you were a child, and he went after Iris - you’re angry. You aren’t thinking straight.”

“When I went after him today, you’re right - I wasn’t thinking straight. I was mad, I didn’t have a plan. But I won’t make that mistake again. I’ve had good teachers. I’m going to fight him properly this time, and this time he won’t win.” Barry moved towards her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You gotta trust me, Caitlin.”

“I don’t want to lose anyone else I care about,” Caitlin said pleadingly. “Not to someone like Woodward. He’s not worth it.”

“He’s hurting people, and I can stop it,” Barry said. “To me, that’s definitely worth it.”

“If you follow our instructions and take proper care, there’s no reason why you won’t prevail,” Doctor Wells said. “You can do this, Barry. I believe in you.”

Nodding, Barry thought about the look on Woodward’s face the second before he’d overturned that concrete block and crushed him underneath it. That smug, vicious look, like someone stepping on a bug just because he could. It made anger swell hot in his chest. This time, however, he was determined to keep a handle on it. If there was one thing his most recent encounter with Woodward had taught him, it was that losing his temper wasn’t going to help him win this fight.

Next time, he was going to make Woodward pay for all those years of pain and misery he’d put Barry through. He was going to avenge not just himself, but everyone else Woodward had ever been cruel to.  
  
And  _ Christ,  _ was he going to enjoy it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> masturbation scene and fairly graphic sexual fantasizing in this chapter! to avoid, stop reading at 'on his own, then. too bad.' and start again at "staring up at the ceiling, he wondered where THAT had come from."

Barry got home to an empty apartment that evening. He kicked off his shoes and wondered how the hell this kept happening - he and Len constantly missing each other even though their schedules ran side by side. Like parallel lines, they seemed doomed never to meet. He sighed. Len had left him a note by the phone:  _ Back soon. Love you.  _

Smiling, Barry folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. It had been a long day; Joe was seething about some ATM that had been busted open like an egg, emptied and then  _ melted _ , subjected to such intense heat that it now resembled little more than a hunk of distorted plastic. Cisco was sure it was the work of the heat gun he’d built alongside the cold one, and sure enough, the first officer at the scene was suffering from a nasty case of frostbite after he’d been shot in the face by a blast of energy at absolute zero. Luckily, he was in hospital and was likely to recover. The same couldn’t be said for his car, which had been reduced to a burnt out husk. This confirmed their suspicions; Captain Cold had an accomplice. Cisco was calling him Heatwave. 

Barry had to admit, Cisco was getting  _ good  _ at the whole naming thing.

It looked like the Captain Cold investigation was going to be bumped back up to the top of their list of priorities. Tony Woodward had stolen another car and, according to Joe, had been spotted shooting straight out of the city, which meant that Barry could well have lost his chance. He’d been all ready to go off in pursuit, but even Barry knew that deliberately chasing Woodward across the country was reckless. 

They’d lost him. Barry was trying not to be bitter about it.

The front door opened. Blinking, Barry turned around. Len was wearing his leather jacket and carrying his duffle bag, which strained at the seams. Barry eyed it with amusement.

“Looks like you need a bigger bag.”

Len waved him away. “This one suits me fine. Did you get my note?”

“Sure did,” Barry said. “I love you too, by the way.”

Making a face, Len hung his bag up on the coat-rack. He moved forwards to kiss Barry on the lips. Sighing, Barry relaxed into the embrace. It was nice to come home and not be confronted by an immediate argument. 

“So how was your day?” Len asked, straightening Barry’s collar. 

“Frustrating. We just had the craziest robbery; this ATM got  _ melted.  _ It was insane, no one knows what to make of it. And you remember me mentioning Tony Woodward?”

“Mm, your bully,” Len said. He linked his arms around Barry’s neck. 

“That’s him. I don’t know if I told you the CCPD were after him - he was involved in an incident. Joyriding. Anyway, looks like he skipped town.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Yep,” Barry sighed. “I was really looking forward to seeing him in a cell. But you can’t have everything, I guess.” 

“Sometimes you gotta know when to pick your battles,” Len said. “Or when to let me pick them for you. I could totally have taken him out for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Barry said. “He went after Iris this afternoon. Turns out he’s a metahuman.”

Len raised his eyebrows. “Really? Now  _ that’s  _ interesting. This city’s overrun. Did Iris sit him down for an interview?”

“She told him where to get off. He didn’t take it too well. He crushed her phone with  _ one hand. _ They’ve had to put a police detail on her. Turns out he had a crush on her back in high school, and now he’s got the means to enforce it.”

“And what does this one do? We’ve had the roadrunner, a rogue weatherman, and I seem to recall Iris mentioning that Joe was attacked by a sentient fart…”

“Len!” Barry protested, but he couldn’t help grinning. To hear Len be so blase about the metahumans who’d nearly killed him struck him as both funny and irritating in equal measure. That ‘sentient fart’ had almost set off a gang war that could have destroyed half the city. But, Barry figured, if the average citizen could be so calm about metahuman threats, clearly he was doing a good job of protecting the city.

Len smirked. “Just trying to reduce the tension.”

“It’s not funny,” Barry said sternly. “Iris is in danger.” But he relented. “Woodward seems to have some kind of enhanced strength. And he can kind of turn to metal. We’re not really sure of the details, but half the force was shooting at him the other night and the bullets just kind of bounced off.”

“So he’s basically Colossus. These metahumans are going to have to watch their backs; this is starting to seem like a copyright issue.”

“You’re awful,” Barry said. “Woodward’s killing people.”

Len didn’t look chagrined in the slightest; on the contrary, he actually seemed even more amused. “Well, we’ve all been there,” he said. “Am I to assume that now Woodward’s out of the picture, you’re going to quit asking for sparring lessons?”

“Actually I was kind of hoping we could have another round,” Barry said. “Tonight.”

“Someone’s eager.”

“I don’t ever want this to happen again,” Barry said. “I’ve gotta learn to take care of myself. And… I’m kind of mad. I gotta work off some steam.”

“I can think of...better ways,” Len said, leaning back to look him up and down. He tilted his head suggestively. “If you have some excess energy to burn.”

Barry hesitated.

“Not in the mood, huh?”

“I mean… I’m not _ not  _ in the mood? But...I’m still a little stressed, what with Iris and everything… I’m not sure I’m in the right mindset.”

“That’s fair,” Len said. “You wanna head down to the precinct? We can go for a couple of rounds.” He kissed Barry again. “And then… depending on how we feel…” He leaned in to murmur into Barry’s ear. “We can go for a few rounds of different sort. I seem to recall a rather nice table in your lab that I could bend you over.”

Shivering, Barry said, “That sounds...good.” 

“But?”

“But…” Barry swallowed. “I was thinking maybe I could bend  _ you  _ over the table instead.”

“Oh,” Len said. “Well. That’s an idea I can get behind. Or… in front of.”

“Well then,” said Barry, and he took a step back and offered Len his hand. “No time to waste.”

~*~

 

There was something therapeutic, in a weird way, about fighting with Len. It was less structured than it had been with Eddie; Len fought dirty, which caused Barry to up his game. In a way that helped; he doubted that Woodward would have followed correct boxing procedure. Len also taught Barry some valuable things about when and how to duck. 

Before long, they’d worked up a good sweat. Len even took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater. Anyone eavesdropping would probably have raised eyebrows at the gasps and grunts coming from the room, but for once things were entirely above board. Len got Barry in a headlock. Barry fought and sputtered and then resorted to pinching Len’s thigh to make him let go. They circled one-another, grinning. Len aimed a punch; Barry ducked, and then attempted to get in a hit of his own. Len caught his wrist mid-swing, grinning.

“Gotta be faster than that,” he said.

Barry tried to free himself, but Len’s grip was like iron. Not quite hard enough to hurt, but too hard for him to shake off. 

“You gotta rotate your wrist,” Len advised. “Fast. Twist it and then snatch your arm back as quick as you can. Breaks my hold. The friction’s gonna force me to let go.”

“You know, this situation seems kinda familiar,” Barry said. “I seem to recall you getting me in a similar position the other night…”

Len raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were here to fight, not fuck.”

“I can multitask?”

“Behave yourself, Scarlet,” Len said. “Plenty of time for that later.” He released Barry’s arm. “Now. Hit me.”

Barry took a deep breath and was about to land his blow when Eddie burst into the room.

Barry and Len both froze. Eddie was in disarray, his tie hanging loose and his face sweaty. 

“Hey, Eddie, what’s wrong?” Barry asked.

“It’s Iris,” Eddie said.

~*~

“Woodward took her. We don’t know where, but he smashed up the cars of the officers we sent to keep an eye on her, and now she’s gone,” Eddie said frantically.

They were rushing through the precinct, Len keeping his head down. This was a stupid risk. Hanging out in a disused basement at the precinct was risky enough; doing it with cops swarming everywhere, all asking questions and organising a manhunt, was pure madness. But he wasn’t about to leave Barry now. 

“Can we track her somehow? Where the hell could he have taken her?” Barry demanded.

“We received a tip-off that he had a place in Keystone, but traffic in and out of the city is being monitored and they haven’t picked anything up. Wherever they are, they’re somewhere in the city.”

Joe exploded into the room, looking even more of a mess than Eddie. “Where the hell is she? Where’s my daughter?” 

Behind him, Wally was wide-eyed, breathing hard as his eyes flickered from person to person.

“We’re doing everything we can, Joe,” said Singh. “We’ll get her back.”

Even the Captain was on the case. Len was careful to keep his back to him. It’d be just his luck to get banged up just when all this shit was going down.

Joe seized a ringing phone from someone’s desk, started barking into the receiver, and then slammed it down again. Several more cops rushed past, jostling Len on their way. He set his jaw and moved out of their way. Wally’s eyes followed them, 

“I don’t understand how this happened, we had six guys watching her,” Eddie fretted.

“Six? Don’t talk crap, there were four,” Joe snapped. 

“I had two extra cops stationed by the back door.”

“And why the hell would you do that, Detective Thawne? What the hell does it have to do with you who’s protecting my daughter?” 

“Because Iris and I are dating!” Eddie shouted.

There was a shocked pause, amongst the hubbub of phones ringing and cops milling about. For a moment Len thought Joe was going to punch Thawne in the mouth. His shoulders heaved. Wally stared at his father as though he was a bomb that was about to go off.

In the end, it was Wally’s evident terror that snapped Joe out of his stupor. He glanced at Wally, swallowed, and then pointed a finger directly at Eddie.

“You know what? I can’t deal with this right now. We gotta get Iris back - and then me and you are gonna talk.”

“Fine,” Eddie said. He agitatedly ran a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna run down to the cells and talk to that guy we brought in, see if he can give any clues about Woodward. Old haunts, possible friends he could have taken Iris to - ”

“You do that,” Joe said coldly.

Eddie took off, sprinting down the corridor. 

“Wait, I’m coming too, I wanna help - Eddie, wait up!” said Wally, sprinting after him.

“Wally!” shouted Joe, but Wally was already careening around the corner in pursuit, and he didn’t even look back.

For a moment, Joe seemed incapable of moving, too busy staring at the spot where the second of his kids had vanished from sight. Then, he turned to Barry.

Something passed between them, a look that Len didn’t quite understand. Barry nodded seriously, and without a word, Joe whirled around and went to start yelling at a few of the other cops.

Len opened his mouth to ask what the hell  _ that  _ was about, and then another cop pushed past him, eyes on Singh.

“Sir, we’ve just had a fire alarm triggered at Carmichael Elementary.”

“Well put it through to the fire department; we’ve got bigger concerns,” Singh snapped. 

Barry’s whole body had gone rigid. He turned to Len, eyes wide and panicked.

“I gotta - I - ”

“Barry, it’s okay, it’ll be fine - ”

“I have to help,” Barry said. “Maybe I can get that guy to talk somehow, I can help Eddie with the investigation, or - or maybe I can call S.T.A.R Labs, Cisco might be able to track her phone - ”

“Okay,” Len said. “You do what you’ve gotta do, Barry, okay? Go.”

“I love you,” Barry said, “I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything, okay?”

Then he tore himself free of Len’s grip and raced after Eddie without looking back.

Len didn’t hesitate. He already had his phone out of his pocket; he was down the stairs and out of the precinct within thirty seconds, and then he headed down the street listening to the dial tone, muttering to himself.

“Come on, pick up, pick up, you useless bastard - ”

He got an answer on the eighth ring. 

“What?” Mick demanded.

“I need you to come pick me up,” Len said. “We’ve got a job.”

“We just finished a job.”

“It’s an an emergency,” Len said. “Barry’s sister’s been kidnapped.”

“Iris? What the hell for?”

“Some lunatic meta has a thing for her and didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

“How are we supposed to find her?” Mick demanded. “We’re not psychic.”

“There’s been an alarm triggered at Carmichael Elementary,” Len said. “That’s the school Barry went to. Seems like a hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“And why don’t we just give that information to the cops and let them figure it out?”

“The cops already know about it, they’re just too dumb to put two and two together,” Len snapped. “Besides, the guy’s a meta. The cops can’t handle it. We gotta deal with this ourselves. If that bastard hurts a hair on Iris West’s head, we’re going to kill him. Sound fair?”

“We don’t do rescues,” Mick said. “We’re bad guys. We like stealing, drinking, and spending other people’s money. We don’t save people.”

“We do now.” Len stopped in the street, breathing hard. “What if it was Lisa? What about that? Iris may not be a blood relative, Mick, but she’s Barry’s family. That makes her  _ my  _ family, and nobody hurts my family.  _ Nobody. _ ”

There was a pause. Len could practically hear the gears turning in Mick’s head as he thought it all over. He gripped the phone so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“Fine,” Mick growled. “I’ll grab the keys to the van. I’ll pick you up, where are you?”

“Meet me at my apartment,” Len said. “There are some things I need to grab. And bring your gun. Whatever happens tonight, we’re taking him down.”

~*~

 

Len hated school.  
  
Always had, so far as he could recall. In truth, he'd always seen it as a waste of time. As soon as he could read, write, and do enough basic math to know whether or not he was being conned, he stopped seeing any point in it all. Dropped out in his mid teens and never looked back. He didn't see the use in figuring out equations or learning to ask the price of jam in French. He'd never used algebra in his life outside of the classroom, and if he ever went to France - which he didn't plan to - if he happened to see something he wanted, he figured he'd just point his gun at whoever owned it until they handed it over.   
  
Some things, he thought, were universal.

"I hate school," Mick growled.   
  
"Don't we all," Len said dryly. "Now are we all caught up with the plan?"    
  
"We don't have a plan."    
  
"I always have a plan. You'll like this one; its beauty is in its simplicity. We don't know anything about this guy, except that he's bad news and he has Iris. So the second we see him, we shoot him. Then we get the hell out of dodge before the cops show."    
  
"Finally," Mick said. "A plan I can get behind."    


Len opened his mouth to make a lazy reply, and then the sound of an angry voice reached them from a few feet away.

Exchanging glances, Len and Mick crept forward towards the closest door. Len pulled his hood down and his goggles up, then slowly eased the door open. He and Mick carefully peered around it.   


Iris was wrestling with a tall blond man, who had a tight grip on her arm. Her efforts to free herself were futile; he didn’t even seem to notice her struggling.   


"I gave you a chance!" Woodward shouted. “You could have written all about me for your blog. You could have made us both famous. I’d have told you everything you wanted to know. Why would you wanna write about that dumb red Streak when you could be writing about me?” He lowered his voice. “You’re making a huge mistake, Iris. I was nice to you. I liked you a lot, but it wasn’t good enough for you, was it? You’re going to regret this, I hope you realise that.”   
  
"You're the one who's going to regret it!" Iris retorted, with another attempt to yank free of his hold. "When the Flash gets here, I swear to god -"    
  
"Oh, Iris. The Flash isn't coming. He won't be coming to anybody's rescue from now on."    
  
"What? What do you mean?"  
  
"The Flash is dead," said Woodward, with hard emphasis on the word. "He decided to pay me a little visit. I don't like unexpected guests. I crushed him like a bug."   


Len felt his anger harden into a solid knot in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he pulled his hood up.   


"No," Iris said. "You're lying, you're -"   
  
"He was a coward," said Woodward. "I kicked his ass once. Then when he came back for more, I killed him. Guess you're gonna have to find someone new to write about after all." He squeezed her arm; Iris cried out in pain. "Maybe if you're good, I'll even tell you how he died. That'll make a good story for your little blog."    
  
"I don't know what it is they taught you in this place, but clearly someone needs to teach you how to treat a woman," Len snarled, and he kicked the door open and fired the cold gun.  
  
He couldn't take a direct hit at Woodward in case he hit Iris, but the blast did what it was supposed to; it distracted him. Woodward released Iris and turned to Len, and then his skin changed. A metallic sheen coated his whole body, like he'd been spray-painted.   


Mick was at his side, his own gun powering up. "Run!" he barked.   


Iris didn't need telling twice. She turned and fled.   
  
Mick and Len advanced, still firing. It took Len all of three seconds to realise that their blasts were having no effect; Woodward was squinting, dazzled without goggles to shield his eyes, but he didn't show any signs of pain. Whenever Len had used his gun before, a blast like that from such close range had put his victims down in seconds. Woodward didn't seem to care.   


Len kept firing steadily at Woodward's head while Mick aimed at his feet. He was hoping the continuous attack might wear Woodward down, but he showed no signs of flagging. Fucking metahumans.   


Len glanced around the room for another weapon; his gaze settled on a fire extinguisher attached to the wall. He shoved his gun back in his holster. Pressing forward, Mick kept firing, redoubling his attack while Len backed off and grabbed the extinguisher. Yanking it off the wall, he charged at Woodward.   


Mick stopped shooting and stepped back, and Len dodged past him and slammed the fire extinguisher into Woodward's skull.

There was a beat of silence. For a heart-stopping moment, Len thought it had actually worked. Panting, he lowered the extinguisher.

Then Woodward slowly turned his head and grinned.

There wasn’t a curse word in the world obscene enough to convey Len’s feelings at that exact moment. Backing off, he put a hand on his gun - not that it would do him any good.

“Is that all you got?” demanded Woodward.

Len responded by yanking the pin out of the fire extinguisher and viciously spraying him with white foam.

It was ridiculous; the foam wasn’t going to do any more damage than their guns had, but he figured it might at least distract the bastard for a few seconds. Sure enough, Woodward started crashing around and pawing at his face, trying to wipe away the foam whilst Len continued to spray it in his face. This gave him and Mick enough time to edge around the meta, and then start backing away from him in earnest. 

The fire extinguisher guttered and died, spitting out a few last gobbets of foam before it gave up the ghost. Cursing, Len threw it at Woodward, then whipped out his gun.

He fired again, this time aiming at the floor beneath Woodward’s feet. If he couldn’t hurt the bastard directly, he figured even metal men could slip up. Unfortunately the heat from Mick’s gun was counterproductive; he couldn’t get a good layer of ice down before it started to evaporate. What he’d intended to be an icy death-trap was actually more of a pathetic puddle. 

“Snart,” Mick growled, “what’s the new plan?”

“How about this,” Len said. “ _ Run. _ ”

With that thought in mind, he followed his own advice and fled, Mick hot on his heels.

Seconds later, they rounded the corner and spotted Iris stood fighting with a set of locked doors.

Len cursed furiously. She used to  _ go  _ here; surely she should have known she was running straight into a dead end? 

“What now?” Mick demanded.

Good question. Len spun around. The only weapon on sight was another fire extinguisher, which would be about as much use against Woodward as a wet paper aeroplane. Cursing, he momentarily debated trying to freeze off the lock on the doors, but discarded that as a terrible idea; he’d be more likely to freeze them shut by mistake. 

Iris was still pummelling desperately on the doors. Mick had turned back and was aiming his gun at the corridor ahead. Distantly, Len could hear Woodward thumping towards them, pausing every other second to make outdated slasher movie references. Len gritted his teeth. He was  _ not  _ about to be murdered by a guy who thought it was unique and edgy to spew quotes from  _ The Shining. _

Len’s eyes flickered around the room, looking for some kind of angle, an advantage, anything they could  _ use  _ \- and then he caught sight of his reflection in the window.

“Give me your gun,” he snarled.

Mick handed it over, frowning. Len didn’t have time to explain. Instead, he just fired point blank at the window. 

The heat was excruciating, pouring off the glass in thick waves. It only took Len a few seconds to heat the glass to his satisfaction; then he tossed Mick’s gun back to him and fired with his own, directly into the centre of the pane.

When the glass shattered, it was with a deafening sound that made them all flinch. Mick barrelled past him, threw his gun out through the window and then squeezed through. Surprisingly agilely, he was out and running in seconds.

Len  _ hated  _ backing down from a fight, and this was a truly embarrassing defeat, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was beaten. He put one foot on the window sill, glass grinding underneath the sole of his boot.

Iris gave a little gasp. Len glanced back - and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. 

The Flash was standing at the end of the hallway.

Len launched himself out through the window and hit the ground running. Head down, he sprinted across the field behind the school like the hounds of hell were after him. If the Flash gave chase, he was fucked. Didn’t stop him from giving it everything he had. His feet pounded furiously on the ground.

Soon he was level with Mick. They flew across the field at full pelt. The cold gun bounced against Len’s hip where he’d hastily stowed it back in its holster; he would have a bruise tomorrow, if he lived that long.

“Where’s Iris?” Mick demanded as they ran. 

“She’s with the Flash,” Len snarled. “Now shift your ass, unless you want us to be next.”

“Stupid red bastard could have showed up a little earlier, saved us the bother,” Mick snarled, but he put his head down and kept running.

Len had to disagree. His heart was racing, his legs shaking, his hands sweating inside his gloves. Both he and Mick had got away unscathed, Iris was in safe hands, and Woodward was about to get the beating of a lifetime.

The Flash’s timing seemed pretty good to him.

~*~

 

Barry stared at the broken window in a state of shock. Now was not the time; he had Woodward to worry about, and Iris was standing with wide eyes by a set of chained double doors, awaiting her knight in red tripolymer. But Barry was frozen, his head spinning. 

He hadn’t seen much; had arrived just in time to watch the blast of icy energy hit the window and see the glass shatter, and then to watch the two men launch themselves out of the window in rapid succession. One of the benefits of the speed force, though, was that for Barry, time standing still didn’t have to be a metaphor. What had passed as a split-second for the other man had been several for Barry - long enough to see the man glance up and look him right in the face.

The glare from the gun had obscured him mostly from view; the huge goggles and hood had done the rest. But one thing Barry knew for sure. Cisco had explained the effects and appearance of the cold gun more than enough times for him to know exactly what he’d just seen.

He’d just come face to face with Captain Cold.

Numbly, Barry took a step forward. What he was going to do next, he had no idea. Pursue them? He could catch them easily, but then what? And he still had to deal with - 

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Slowly, Barry turned. A few feet away, Woodward smirked. Inexplicably, he was slimy and covered with disintegrating foam, but he didn’t seem to care. His fists were clenched.

Inwardly, Barry cursed. By the time he was done here, Cold and his associate would be gone. 

But, he thought grimly, better the devil you know.

“Come back for another beating,  _ Flash _ ?” Woodward taunted.

“ _ I’ve come to take you down _ ,” Barry said.

Woodward laughed at him. “I don’t go down so easy. Your two friends with the fancy guns figured that out pretty fast. At least they were more interesting competition.”

“ _ You sure like the sound of your own voice _ ,” Barry said. He turned to Iris. “ _ You should go. Get out of here. _ ”

“Let her stay,” Woodward called. “Then she can watch while I crush you. Again. Don’t worry; I’ll do a better job of it this time.”

Len had given Barry a few less scrupulous tips about fighting during their most recent sparring session; some of them were still fresh in his mind. The one that had resonated with him most was the one he thought he’d probably be best at: don’t give your opponent a chance to prepare. Strike first and without warning.

Barry shot across the room like a bullet and his fist crunched into Woodward’s face.

It was a beautiful, satisfying connection; Woodward staggered, his skin hardening to protect him just an instant too late. Then he was steadying himself, putting one hand against the lockers.

Barry didn’t give him a chance to right himself; he punched the other side of his face, and then blurred around Woodward to knee him from behind, right between the legs. Unfortunately by that point Woodward was ready for him, and the blow didn’t have any effect except to make Barry yell in pain and stagger back, agony shooting through his leg. 

_ Stupid,  _ he told himself. If he fucked up his legs, he couldn’t run. He could still sprint with a broken hand. Dancing back out of reach, he took a second to size Woodward up.

The blond lumbered at him, his whole body gleaming. He swung a punch that Barry dodged back from, then another that he ducked underneath.  _ Tire him out,  _ Len’s voice said in his head.  _ The more times he has to hit you, the more energy he burns.  _ Barry was quick; if there was one thing he’d learned to do during his childhood, it was dodge. With every miss, Woodward got visibly more and more infuriated. That was good; let him cloud his judgement. Barry’s mind was clear.

He avoided a few more hits, then shifted his position so that he had his back pressed up against the lockers. Woodward took the bait. His fist collided with the locker that, a nanosecond before, had been directly behind Barry’s head. With his hand sunken into the soft metal, he was trapped.

Growling, Woodward struggled to yank himself free, and Barry spared a split second to look over at Iris, who was pressed back against the chained up doors, eyes wide.

Then Woodward snatched his fist out of the caved-in locker and slammed his elbow into the side of Barry’s head.

The blow knocked him senseless, making him stagger. Barry fell into the lockers on the opposing wall, bright lights flashing in front of his eyes. Pain exploded through the back of his head. Before he could recover, Woodward had grabbed him by the arm. Barry frantically tried to wrench his arm free like Len had told him, but he couldn’t get the movement right. Grinning, Woodward dragged him forwards, then grabbed the front of his suit. He shook Barry like a rag doll, teeth clacking like castanets.

“Is that all you got?” he shouted. 

Barry struggled and kicked, slamming his palms onto Woodward’s ears to try and throw him off balance. Iris was shouting from the end of the hallway, but her words were inaudible past the ringing in his ears and the horrible rushing sound that accompanied it. Gasping, Barry fought to gain purchase on the door of one of the lockers, to keep Woodward from banging him against the wall again. It did no good.

“Hey!”

Iris had dashed up behind Woodward, wielding a fire extinguisher. Her face set with determination, she swung it into the back of his head. 

Woodward released Barry, letting him drop to the ground. For a moment he lay gasping, too dizzy to focus. Iris was backing away, still gripping the extinguisher for dear life. Woodward didn’t seem to have been injured by the blow; if anything he looked amused by her efforts. Groaning, Barry clawed his way up to a standing position. His legs quivered.

“Wow,” Woodward said, looking scornfully at him. “Saved by a girl. That’s embarrassing.”

“Watch your mouth, Tony,” Iris said, licking her lips. “This girl’s more than capable of kicking your ass.”

He laughed. “Well, maybe I’d believe that.  _ That  _ girl, on the other hand…” He nodded mockingly at Barry. “Please. He’s your hero? Look at him.”

Drawing a shaky breath, Barry pulled himself up to his full height. He met Iris’ gaze. She was breathing hard, her grip white-knuckled on the fire extinguisher. Slowly, she backed away.

“I like a woman who can handle herself,” Tony said. “You gonna give me a raincheck on that date, Iris?”

“Over my dead body,” Iris said, lifting the extinguisher higher.

“Too bad. Oh well. Maybe you’ll change your mind once I’m done taking out the trash.”

Woodward was turning back to him, fists loosely clenched. 

Barry didn’t wait for him. He turned and fled, shooting out of the building like the hounds were after him.

Running away like that made him sick with anger, but he knew when he was beaten. This was a case for extreme measures. Lowering his head, he charged away from the school in as straight a line as he could manage, dodging the odd car or pedestrian as he run. He didn’t have long; he couldn’t leave Iris alone with that brute. God knows what he’d do to her.

“ _ He’s leaving, _ ” Cisco said into his comms. “ _ Barr? You with us? We got a couple of spikes on your vitals -  _ ”

Barry didn’t answer. Clenching his jaw, he ran faster. Mentally, he was making calculations, mapping out the city in his mind. Over the past few months he’d begun to pride himself on his extensive knowledge of the city, of the relative distances between things. On that at least, he was a good judge.

He skidded to a stop, the friction searing through his boots as he turned back to face the direction he’d just come from. Breathing hard, he dropped down into a starting position, his gloved hands resting on the ground. His thigh muscles trembled, his heart pounded painfully. He would have killed for a drink. None of it mattered. He put a hand to his ear to activate his comms.

“Cisco,” he said. “How far am I from Carmichael Elementary?”

“ _ Five miles _ ,” Cisco said. “... _ Five point three miles exactly. _ ” He drew in a sharp breath; it crackled down the comms link. “ _ Barr. You’re sure you wanna do this? _ ”

“Mach one point one,” Barry said. “I’m sure.”

“ _ Go get him _ .”

Barry exploded forwards like a bullet from a starting pistol, in a shower of gravel and sparks.

The acceleration was frightening. He poured everything he had into it, feeling his lightning crackle enthusiastically as he piled on the speed. The wind howled around him, threatening to buffet him off course, but Barry cut through the turbulence like a knife.

He could hear Cisco yelling down the comms - “ _ SUPER-SONIC PUNCH BABY!” -  _ and used it to spur himself onward. The rest of the world was a blur, but he could hear the frantic screams of car alarms as he blew past; the agonised shatter of glass. He could feel the speed force sizzling, making his whole body tingle. It was like the moment he’d been hit by lightning, caught on a constant loop.

Barry raised his arm, one fist held out in front of him ready to land his punch, the other arm held back to make him more streamlined. The wind tore at him, his cheeks burning from all the grit flying up at the exposed parts of his face - then the school came into view, lights blazing. Barry barrelled towards the building without slowing his headlong rush, and as he exploded through the front doors, he was lifted off his feet by the force of his momentum.

For a moment there was nothing to stop him; he shot straight at Woodward. Barry had just enough time to register the astonishment on Woodward’s  face, and then his fist whammed straight into the man’s jaw and knocked him down with a sickening crack.

Barry was moving too fast to stop; he rolled straight over Woodward and kept going, skidding across the polished floor with the smell of ozone and burning leather hot in his nostrils. He collided with the opposing wall with a crack, coming to a sudden and very painful stop. 

The pain in his hand was excruciating, radiating right up his arm. It felt like he’d plunged it straight into a bucket of boiling water. All desire to move had been knocked out of him.

Woodward was stirring feebly, all trace of metal gone from his skin. He managed to roll onto his front and get one leg underneath himself, and then he was pushing himself to his feet. Barry gritted his teeth and tried to fight through the pain, but he wasn’t sure he had another punch left in him; he fought against a pulse of sickening heat in his hand, collapsing back against the wall. God, not like this; he’d landed the supersonic punch and now he didn’t have enough juice left for an ordinary one, and Woodward was almost on his feet -

Iris brought the fire extinguisher crashing down on Woodward’s head.

He went down like a tonne of bricks, collapsing bonelessly to the floor, but Iris wasn’t done. Yelling furiously, she smashed the extinguisher down across his broad shoulders, then back onto his head. Her third blow missed, denting the floor, but then she was beating him again, battering away at him with desperate determination. It was the way she dealt with spiders in the house; she wouldn’t stop until Woodward was little more than a mess of broken limbs and squishy bits on the ground. 

“ _ Iris! _ ” 

She stopped dead, extinguisher raised dangerously above her head. Panting, she turned to look at him, sweaty hair sticking to her cheek. 

Groaning, Barry struggled to his feet. He had to hang on to a locker for support. “ _ It’s okay, _ ” he managed. “ _ You can stop now. It’s over.” _

~*~

 

They restrained Woodward with a bunch of skipping ropes from the Phys Ed cupboard, although Barry was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Even if the supersonic punch hadn’t knocked him out for the count, being assaulted with a fire extinguisher wasn’t something one could just get up and walk away from. You had to give Iris credit; she was  _ fierce. _

Barry was going to take Woodward down to S.T.A.R Labs just as soon as he had his breath back, but the guy was fucking heavy, and his hand was still killing him. For now, he settled for tying him up so tightly that he looked like a ball of yarn. Then they tied him to the radiator. The rather dented fire extinguisher was in safe reach, just in case.

When they were done, Iris sagged exhaustedly against the wall. “How many of you are there? Like you and him, I mean?”

“ _ I’m not like him. _ ”

She waved a hand. “You know what I mean. Other metahumans.” Noticing his hesitation, she reminded him, “I just saved your ass. Twice. You owe me a few answers.”

Barry relented. “ _ We’re not sure yet. They keep showing up. Theoretically, anyone in range of the particle accelerator explosion could have been affected. There are so many variables, triggering factors… a lot of them might still be dormant. Who knows if we’ll ever have a definitive number? _ ”

“And your friends? Were they hit by the accelerator explosion too?”

“ _ My friends? _ ”

“The guys with the guns.”

“ _ Those aren’t my friends, _ ” Barry said. “ _ How much do you know about them? _ ”

“I don’t know anything. All I know is they showed up just in time to save my ass. Who’d have thought anyone else could keep better time than the fastest man alive?” 

“ _ Those men stole some very dangerous weapons, _ ” Barry said. “ _ They’ve been doing a hell of a lot of damage. I need to find them. Can you tell me what they looked like? _ ”

“I didn’t get a good look at them. One of them had a dark blue coat with a furry hood. The other… he was big. Muscly. They both had goggles on; I couldn’t see their faces. One of them had this kind of...blue laser gun. It shot all this icy energy. The other one had some kind of flamethrower, but it was so bright I couldn’t look at either of them properly when they were firing… I didn’t see much; we were kind of busy running for our lives.” Iris looked up. “Who are they?”

Barry opted for honesty. “ _ My friends and I give the bad guys code-names. We call one of them Heatwave. The other guy is Captain Cold. _ ”

Iris giggled. “That’s so embarrassing. You’d get on so well with Barry.”

Sighing, Barry straightened up. He could hear sirens in the distance; soon they’d be coming to collect Iris, and he’d have to be well out of the way by then. “ _ Listen, these men… do you have any idea why they might have been here? _ ”

“This is going to sound crazy, but it’s almost like they were on some kind of rescue mission. They were shooting Tony, one of them told me to run. I think they were trying to save me.”

Barry frowned. “ _ Why would they do that? _ ”

“I don’t know,” Iris said. “But I’m glad they did. Seems like I could use an extra guardian angel. Mine was running a little behind schedule.” She grinned.

“ _ Yeah, I always seem to be last-minute, _ ” Barry said. The sirens were getting louder. “ _ Look, I’m gonna have to run. Gotta get this asshole down to S - to a safe place. But listen. Any information you find out about these guys, I’d like to know about it. That doesn’t mean put yourself at risk trying to find something out, _ ” he said sternly. “ _ But if you hear anything on the grapevine…” _

“I know where to find you,” Iris said.

Giving her a tiny, two-fingered salute, Barry blurred over to Woodward, untied him, and then threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift -  _ fuck,  _ that was difficult with a guy this size - before sprinting out through the open doors and out of sight.

~*~

It was late when Len finally got home that night. He and Mick had kept running for a good half hour after fleeing the school, had headed out of town and kept sprinting until they couldn’t run any more.

Eventually they hurled themselves into a bush by the side of the road and crouched there for an hour until they had both decided the red bastard wasn’t on their tail. Straightening up, Len ignored the way his joints popped and started trying to work some feeling back into his fingers. It had been years since he’d last had such a close call. He was painfully aware that the Flash would have caught them with ease, if he didn’t have bigger fish to fry.

“That was the dumbest thing you ever had me do,” Mick had growled as they started the arduous walk back to Central City. “Next time someone’s dumb enough to get kidnapped, they’re on their own.”

At the time, Len simply told him to shut up and keep walking. In retrospect, though, Mick was right. They’d nearly been crushed by that stupid metal bastard, Iris had nearly got herself killed anyway, and they hadn’t even had time to see if the school had a safe they could loot on the way out. Clearly the whole hero thing wasn’t for him - it was reckless, risky, and not at all lucrative.

Despite all that, he’d loved every minute of it.

Bizarrely, Len found, the closer he got to the Flash, the more he liked the risk. But for the grace of god, and the tin man crashing around the building, he’d have been Flash chow by now, holed up god knows where. In a cell, maybe dead - although Len doubted it. The Flash was too much of a do-gooder to do something like that. Whatever he was doing with the people he took down, he wasn’t killing them. Of that, Len was certain.

It was a challenge like none he’d ever faced. The trouble was that Len was too good at what he did; it had become boring. Where was the fun in pinching wallets or cracking open ATMs? It was the big stuff he liked. Stealing drug shipments or fancy tech, having to haul ass out of there with his heart in his mouth. Knowing damn well that he could be caught at any second. 

He’d looked the Flash right in the face and still made it out unscathed. When he thought about that, he kind of wanted to laugh.

There was another side-effect to all that adrenaline, however. A most inconvenient side effect. The closer he’d got to home, the tighter his pants got. This was something he’d been hoping he might get some help with - except that Barry was nowhere to be found. The apartment was in darkness, the leftovers in the fridge untouched. Perhaps he was still at the station waiting for news on Iris, although surely the cops had got to her by now. 

There was a blinking light on the answering machine. Switching on the main light, Len reached for the phone. Once upon a time he’d never had a landline, but Barry had changed all that. Domesticated him, like a fucking puppy. Len shook his head and pressed the button to play the recording.

“ _ Hey, honey. I’m sorry for disappearing like that, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Iris is fine, the Flash showed up and saved her - can you believe it? But she’s a little shaken up. I told her I’d stay with her for a while so we could talk. After what happened tonight I don’t wanna take any more risks. No more dumb arguments. ...I’ll be back home when I can, okay? Call me when you get this. I love you. _ ”

There was a low beep to signify the end of the message. Len erased it, and then let out a slow breath. On his own, then. Too bad.

He didn’t turn the light on when he went into their bedroom and closed the door behind him. Shucking his clothes, he slipped between the cool sheets. It was then that he noticed his hands were still shaking. Fucking adrenaline. He laughed breathlessly. The head of his cock was rubbing up against the duvet, the friction making him harder.

Len lay back slowly, waiting for his heart to stop hammering. Every time he thought it had eased, he remembered the way he’d looked at the Flash. The speedster had stared back at him, equally as stunned as he’d been. In a split second, the moment had passed; it wasn’t like the movies, where time slowed down. Len had only gotten a glimpse. But every time he thought of it, his heart stuttered and then sped to a dangerous pace. 

It was making him so fucking horny.

Len hadn’t touched himself in weeks. Months, it would be, soon. Not since Barry woke up. He hadn’t needed to; Barry kept him busy enough. The kid was insatiable; Len was sure he hadn’t been such a horny fuck when  _ he  _ was twenty-five. 

It had only been a few days since they’d last fucked, but he was desperate for it now. If Barry had been here, Len would have flipped him over and pounded him into the mattress, no questions asked. Given it to him a little roughly, without finesse. He knew the kid wouldn’t object; sometimes Barry liked to be used like that, got off on Len’s loss of control. It wasn’t something that he gave in to very often.

Len’s fingers brushed lightly against his cock, and at that point all thoughts of waiting went out through the window. Wrapping his hand around it, he started stroking. 

For the first few seconds he couldn’t seem to shut his brain off. It was too weird to be doing this without Barry. Then he shook his head and focused, letting all of that fade away until it was just the sensation of his hand on his dick, thumb rubbing over the head. He wouldn’t last long, he was too far gone, and he let his head fall back and thought of Barry kissing him; Len’s thighs, his stomach, the head of his cock. Teasing, maybe licking it lightly to wind him up. Then taking him in deep, the tip pressing against the velvety inside of Barry’s cheek; fucking into the heat of it. He’d grab Barry’s hair and Barry would take him as far into his mouth as he could, the head nudging the back of his throat, his eyes watering slightly but still managing it, so fucking good. Len’s hand was moving faster now as he sped towards completion, hissing at the feel of it. He was losing track of the fantasy now, his other hand fisting in the sheets. Now there were just random things flashing into his head, his thoughts too disjointed to focus on anything concrete. Barry bending over in tight jeans, his ass on display. Riding Len’s cock with that fierce concentration on his face, his mouth falling open to let out a moan. Len was leaking now,  _ fuck,  _ he imagined what would happen if Barry walked in and found him, how surprised and turned on he’d be. 

He stroked himself faster, pushing himself closer to the edge. He was still picturing anything and everything that came to mind; Barry touching himself, putting himself on show; tight wet heat on Len’s cock, squeezing down; Barry screwing down onto his fingers, onto Len’s dick, biting Len’s neck - he was so fucking  _ close  _ \- the way he clenched down when he came, wringing Len’s orgasm out of him. Barry on his knees; a flash of lightning down a dimly lit hallway; a figure all in red standing at the end of the corridor, staring him right in the face - 

Len came hard, couldn’t hold back a moan as he spilled into his hand, his whole body shuddering through the aftershocks. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him, the hardest he’d come in weeks. For a moment he was insensible with it, his whole body alight with the sensation… and then it eased, and he went pliant against the bed, panting as the feeling faded.

Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered where the hell  _ that  _ had come from.

Not the sudden influx of arousal - that was normal; he often got worked up after a job, particularly if it was a good one. The more danger he was in, the bigger the adrenaline rush, the harder he got and the better his orgasm was likely to be. No, the weird part was that he’d been fantasizing about Barry - as usual - and then, somehow, the Flash had popped into his head.

Len shook his head and reached for the top drawer of their bedside cabinet, where they kept the tissues. Methodically, he cleaned himself up, then went  to take a shower. There were probably leaves and bits of mud, foam and god knows what else on him. Time to wash away the evidence.

Once he was safely under the spray, letting the water work the residual tension out of him, he couldn’t help but have one last laugh. He’d looked the Flash right in the face and got away completely unscathed. The irony of it was incredible, really. It was the most fantastic high.

Reaching for the shampoo, Len wondered idly when he might get a chance to do it all again. Daring rescue excepted, of course. The next time he faced up against the Flash, he hoped the speedster would catch him doing something far more lucrative.

 

~*~

 

It had been an exhausting day to say the least. After sparring with Len, saving Iris, going up against Woodward more than once  _ and  _ hitting the eight hundred mile an hour mark, Barry felt like he more than deserved a quiet night in. Maybe he could talk Len into making some of his special cocoa before they turned in. 

But first, he had to settle things with Iris.

They had met in Jitters, and at first Barry couldn’t do much more than hug her so tightly that he probably came close to breaking a rib; that was one privilege the Flash had never earned. Then they sat down at their usual table, in the comfy chairs they always chose, and Iris spilled her guts about everything. Seeing Tony, and how scared she’d been. Witnessing his showdown with the Flash, and getting a chance to brain Woodward with a fire hydrant. Barry noticed that she skimped on the details about her involvement with him, and she omitted the tale of Heatwave and Captain Cold entirely, but that was fine by him. That was one story he didn’t want bandied about.

“Much as I hate to admit it, you were right,” Iris said eventually. “This stuff is dangerous. I guess I never realised before.” She looked at him almost shyly. “Maybe I was a little harsh when I called you a worry-wart.”

“No,” Barry said. “I mean, yeah, I was totally right about the Flash stuff. It’s incredibly dangerous and stupid, and I wish you hadn’t been part of it. But I was wrong about some stuff too.” He looked her in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have been so weird with you. Friends support each other, even through dumb-ass decisions. I mean, you had my back when I dated that weird guy with the model train collection in college. And when I drank two pitchers of Sex on The Beach all by myself at your twenty-first birthday party. And… well. I don’t really have to elaborate. My point is, friends should have each other’s backs. And I haven’t been very supportive lately. When I heard you were missing, all I could think about is that we weren’t talking. What if the last time I spoke to you was when we had that fight? You’re precious to me, Iris. I can’t risk our friendship over my own stubbornness. You never know how long you’ll have; I don’t wanna waste time fighting with you.”

“Wow, Mr. Happy,” said Iris, raising an eyebrow. “That’s pretty morbid. You wanna lighten up a little?”

“I mean it, Iris. I don’t want to argue any more. I still think this Flash stuff is a bad idea, but it’s not worth fighting over. You think we can call a truce?” He held out his hand.

Iris stared at it. “I am  _ not  _ shaking hands with you.”

“Oh,” Barry said. Maybe making amends wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

Leaning across the table, Iris smacked him on the arm. “Barry! I’m not shaking hands with you, loser; come over here and hug me.”

“Oh!” said Barry delightedly. “I can do that.”

They both leapt up and hugged, Barry resting his head on her shoulder. Breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo, he sighed contentedly. This was how things were supposed to be. The knot of tension in his belly had finally come unravelled. He could breathe again.

Grinning, Barry flopped back into his seat. “Well, now all that’s over with… I’d ask you all about the Flash, but I think you have bigger things to deal with right now.”

“Like what?”

“Like your dad finally finding out about you and Eddie?”

That had the desired effect; Iris buried her face in her hands with a groan, thoroughly distracted. “Oh, God. I could kill Eddie for blurting it out like that. That’s the worst possible way my dad could have found out. Now neither of them are talking, and the only reason my dad’s talking to  _ me  _ is because I got kidnapped. By tomorrow, he’ll be mad again and I’ll be subjected to the silent treatment.” She sighed heavily, looking up. “Do you and Leonard have room on your couch?”

“You’d really rather stay with me and Len than face Joe?”

“It’s a close tie,” Iris muttered. “Your boyfriend’s a dick, but at least he doesn’t care who I’m dating. Speaking of…” She tilted her head. “You’ve lifted  _ my  _ Flash ban. What about Leonard?”

“What about him?”

“He was researching the Flash too, remember? You gonna let him go back to it?”

Startled, Barry said, “I mean, I guess? If he’s still interested. But he was only ever looking into it because he thought it might help with my mom’s murder case. He’s kind of lost interest in the Flash now.”

“Has he, though? Or is that what he just told you to keep the peace?”

It occurred to Barry then that he didn’t know. Len had told him he didn’t care about the Flash any more, but how would he know, really? Len had never been much of an open book. So much of him still took Barry by surprise, even now. Every day he felt like he was still gently prising away Len’s layers to try and catch a glimpse of the man beneath. He loved Len for everything he knew about him, but sometimes he had to remember that there was so much he didn’t know. A thousand stories he’d never heard. 

Iris leaned over the table. “Look, I’m not trying to start any more fights. Especially not between you two. God knows I can’t stand that kicked puppy dog look you get when you’ve fallen out with him. All I’m saying is you shouldn’t take anything at face value. Everyone has their secrets.”

“I guess…”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Iris. “Right now, you gotta help me figure out how the hell I’m gonna stop my dad from shooting Eddie when he heads into work tomorrow morning. Do you think I can convince Captain Singh to lend him a bulletproof vest?”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Please, like that’d stop him. You’re gonna have to empty Joe’s gun before he heads to work tomorrow. Otherwise there’s no force on god’s earth that’s gonna keep Eddie safe.” Lolling back in his seat, he remarked, “At least one good thing’s gonna come of this situation.”

“And what’s that?”

Grinning, Barry said, “Joe’s gonna be so busy trying to shoot  _ your  _ boyfriend that he might finally stop trying to shoot mine.”

Iris made a sound of mock outrage. “Oh, great! That makes me feel so much better.”

“You love me,” teased Barry.

“Yeah,” Iris admitted, smiling fondly at him. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i've been gone for so long, december is the busiest month of the year for me! assignments, six consecutive ten hour shifts in the run-up to christmas, as well as four 2,000 word assignments due in mid january - it's all been going on! i had to do some edits to this chapter which is why it took a little longer to upload, but it's a long one :) sorry for the delay, and i hope you enjoy!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sex!! It seems I'm a bit uneven - I go from no sex for about ten chapters to... whatever this is haha. Barry tops! Warnings for name-calling (character calling themselves names during masturbation) 
> 
> To avoid the sexual content, skip straight to the first cut ( ~*~ )

It was a peaceful, sunny day in Central City. The weather was gorgeous, the kind of breezy heat that was just on the right side of too-hot, with frequent gusts of wind to counter it. Work was done for the weekend, there was no urgent business at the lab to take care of, and it was shaping up to be a beautifully lazy day. Cars sped by on the street below, the sound drifting in through the open window of Barry and Len’s apartment. Every now and then a cloud darted across the window, casting a faint shadow into the room, and then faded out of view.

Only one sound punctuated the quiet, and that was a steady, rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall as Barry fucked Len into the mattress.

They’d been at it for a while; languid, lazy fucking, devoid of the urgency that had coloured so many of their interactions over the past few weeks. Things had started when Barry woke up hard and started stroking Len’s leg, trailing his fingers up his inner thigh to see if he could turn Len’s dreams into something suggestive. He hadn’t accounted for Len being a ridiculously light sleeper; within seconds Len had woken up and caught his wrist, startling him...and then he’d pushed Barry’s hand down between his legs, then further, pressing his fingertips against his hole. 

After that, Barry needed little encouragement. He’d slicked up his fingers, opened Len up within a few breathless minutes, and then lined up and pressed into him as eager as a teenager. They fucked face to face, foreheads pressed together as Barry thrusted into him. He didn’t top often, so when he did, he liked to make the most of it. Len had his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open and he was panting as Barry fucked him, trying to make every thrust hit just the right spot. 

Things had started off fairly gentle, but Barry was starting to lose his rhythm, rocking more urgently into him. Len held his hips, encouraging him, his grip so hard that it would probably leave marks - if only Barry had been capable of being marked. Still, temporary bruises were good enough for him. He was going in deeper, resting his sweaty forehead against Len’s shoulder to ground himself. Len was usually quiet when he was on the bottom, but Barry knew he was getting close, because he was starting to let low moans escape every other thrust as Barry pushed him closer to the brink. 

Getting a hand between them, Barry started stroking Len’s cock, determined that for once Len was going to come before him. Gasping, Len let his head fall back. He’d given up all pretence at meeting Barry’s thrusts, but Barry was more than happy to put in a little extra effort. He rolled his hips, aiming for precision rather than depth.

Len gave a choked-off sound when he came, a low, dirty sound that made Barry shiver as Len spilled into his hand. When he was done, Barry paused for a second, made eye contact and then licked his fingers clean, staring Len right in the face the whole time.

Lowering his hand, he gave Len a cheeky grin.

“Fuck,” Len said breathlessly.

Biting back his grin, Barry lowered his head and went back to focusing on the task at hand.

It only took a few more thrusts before he was back on the brink again, forehead creased with concentration. Len stroked his sides, whispering filthy encouragements into his ear, and it was combination of that, and the tight heat of Len’s body enveloping him, that tipped Barry over the edge in a rush, the orgasm hitting him all at once. 

Letting out a shaky breath, he pulled out and flopped gracelessly onto his back. Len snorted at him and gave him a shove; Barry playfully shoved back, and they slapped at each other for thirty seconds or so before calling a truce. Then they just lay together catching their breath. Barry couldn’t help grinning at the ceiling. Sunshine poured in through the window, a cool breeze ruffling his hair. The neighbours hadn’t banged on the ceiling to complain, he was sticky and sated and a little worn out, and Len was by his side with a smile on his face. All was right with the world.

Barry would happily have lain there all day - or at least until he got hungry - but he only got to enjoy a few minutes of quiet bliss before Len sighed, sat up and slipped his legs over the edge of the bed.

Propping himself up with one elbow, chin resting on his hand, Barry said, “And where do you think you’re going?”

Len glanced over his shoulder. “Told you I had work today. I must have told you twice. Maybe more.”

Barry pretended to think. “Hmm. I mean, you might have mentioned it…”

Len shook his head and was halfway out of bed when Barry tackled him, hooking an arm around Len’s waist and tugging him back down. 

“Nooo,” he protested. “Stay.”

“Some of us have to work for a living, Bartholomew.”

“Take a sick day,” Barry said. “For me?”

“No can do. It’s a big job. They’ll crash and burn without me.”

“Aw, c’mon, Lenny. Please?” Barry gave his best puppy-dog look.

Len frowned. “Are you having a stroke?”

Outraged, Barry shoved him. “That was my puppy face. Look, you can’t work. It’s the weekend! Stay here with me. I’ll make it worth your while…” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and glanced downwards, where his cock was already tenting the sheets again. 

“Seriously?” Len said. “You’re already gearing for a second round? No can do, Scarlet. Something’s gonna fall off if you keep wearing me down like this. There’s a reason I decided to bottom today.” 

He made another attempt to get out of bed, and was once again thwarted by Barry clinging to him like a limpet. Grinning, Barry hauled him back into bed and started a mock wrestling match, getting them all tangled up. Len rolled his eyes, flipped them, and then he was on top and Barry was pinned to the mattress.

“Oh,” Barry said, pleased. “This is a plan I can get behind.”

“‘Fraid not,” Len said, releasing him. “I’d better go clean myself up. My shift starts in an hour.” 

He got out of bed and reached for the pants he’d left in a heap on the floor the night before. Pouting, Barry watched him. Admired the curve of his ass, the smooth stretch of calf and thigh, the broad shoulders… Barry bit his lip.

“Look away, perve,” Len said dryly. “Can’t spend all day in bed.”

“Can too,” Barry said. “It’s my day off. I can do whatever I want.”

“You know, if you jerk off too often, you’re going to start getting some seriously hairy palms,” Len warned him as he rummaged around in their wardrobe.

“That’s a myth. Anyway, I won’t have to masturbate if you come back and join me.” 

“Much as I’d love to take you up on that charming offer, you know I can’t. If I want to show the big boss I’m serious about that supervisory role, phoning in sick on my first trial run ain’t the greatest way to show it.”

Barry sat up. “Wait, that’s today? Your big job?”

“Sure is.”

“Damn,” Barry said, disappointed. “I was really angling for a sex day.”

“With you lately, every day is a sex day,” Len said dryly. “Save it for later. Today, adulthood beckons.”

Gathering up his clothes, he vanished from the room. After a moment, the shower started running. 

With a sigh, Barry flopped back onto his back. No more sex, then. That was fine. He supposed he could get behind a lazy day in any shape or form, if he could get away with it; all the rushing about, constant stress and numerous near-death experiences were somewhat draining. 

Pulling the covers over his head, he dozed back off again, drifting in and out of awareness as the sounds of Len getting ready drifted through the apartment. Not that he made much noise, but Barry was aware of his presence in the smallest of ways. Doors opening and closing; the odd breeze. The faint brush of fabric against skin. Smiling softly, he snuggled down further into the pillows, inhaling the smell of them; sleep and sex and mingled aftershave, shared shower gel that somehow smelled different on Len’s skin than on his... shampoo that they both bickered over, but swapped constantly, because what difference was there, really? 

The next thing he was aware of was light pressure as Len leaned over the bed, his body pressing against Barry’s. Mumbling, Barry pushed the covers back and looked blearily up at him.

Len looked amusedly down at him, dressed all in black except for that ever-present leather jacket. Barry managed a sleepy smile, stirred and slipped his hand out from underneath the duvet. His hand was halfway to Len’s face when he sighed, gave up and withdrew it. 

Smirking, Len bent over and kissed Barry on the forehead. Barry made a sleepy sound, turned his head and caught Len’s mouth in a proper, albeit clumsy kiss.

“Sleep well, Scarlet,” Len told him. “I’ll call you later when I get off.”

“Miss you,” Barry mumbled.

“I’ll miss you too, you sappy bastard. Get some rest.”

And with that, Len withdrew, closing the door carefully behind him. Barry rolled over, smiling into his pillow, and drifted back off to sleep.

He woke up hard.

It was a sudden jolt from fast asleep to wide awake, a hot pulse of need that woke him in an instant. For a moment Barry lay confusedly, trying to figure out what had woken him so suddenly. His first instinct was to lift the covers, half expecting to find Len under there, having taken Barry into his mouth to rouse him while he slept - but he was alone, and he was aching like he’d been teased for a good hour before waking. Groaning quietly, Barry closed his eyes and relaxed back against the pillows. He had a feeling he’d been having a  _ very  _ good dream, but it had already scattered into a mess of sensations. Whatever he’d dreamed of had felt fantastic, and he was sure he’d been close to the brink when he came back to himself, but… no. It was gone. Just a whispered tease at the back of his mind.

This wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, either. It was ridiculous to be this turned on when he’d been having sex less than... he glanced at the clock. Two hours ago. And it wasn’t as if Len had left him unsatisfied. True, he’d been ready to go again pretty much immediately, but he’d seemed to calm down before going back to sleep… Unfortunately, whatever he’d dreamt off had riled him up again. He was naked between the sheets, the duvet brushing pleasantly against his cock, increasing his sensitivity tenfold. There was a familiar tightening in the pit of his stomach.

Barry grabbed his phone off the bedside table, yanking out the charging cable. Smiling to himself, he was about to snap a picture and send it to Len, along with an appropriately flirty caption -  _ See what you’re missing? ;) x  _ \- but he paused. Today was the day of Len’s first stab at supervising. An unsolicited dick pic would be a distraction at best, and an annoyance at worst. 

Sighing, Barry exited the camera app and went online instead. He didn’t want to bother Len. He’d take care of this himself.

Pulling up one of his faithful favourite porn sites - he hadn’t had much use for such things over the past year or so, but every now and then it was nice to have a little boost - he skimmed through a few videos, picked one at random and started watching, turning the volume down low. The window was still open, and he still felt weird watching porn without headphones anyway. Years of living with Iris and Joe had made him very paranoid about someone catching him at it. Still, he knew he was alone, and before long, he had a good rhythm going. His thumb grazed the head, catching the bead of precome on the tip and swiping it downwards, spreading the wetness, easing the slide. Letting his head fall back, Barry tightened his grip, rocked up a little faster into his fist. His breath hitched. A quiet moan fell from his lips. Soon he let his phone fall to the mattress, closing his eyes and letting the affected sounds of the video provide a soundtrack, almost drowned out by the rustle of the sheets and the wet sound of his fist on his cock.

He was getting close, feeling that familiar tension start to build. A shiver rippled through him - more than a shiver. A vibration.

Instinctively, Barry slowed his pace, a frustrated breath hissing through his teeth. It was an occupational hazard, these days, that when he started getting close to the edge he started to lose control of his powers. For the most part he had a handle on it, and Len didn’t seem to have noticed, but it did unfortunately mean that for the sake of keeping some modicum of control over himself, he often had to hold back right at the precise moment when he was most eager to let go. Usually, it just meant his orgasms came to him a little slower - but sometimes it stopped them all together, when he was focusing so hard on holding still that he couldn’t focus on his pleasure.

He was panting, waiting for the restless rush to subside, when it occurred to him that he was alone. No Len to feel his vibrations, to ask questions he couldn’t answer. Just Barry, and his own hand, and an empty apartment.

His breath hitched. For a moment, he was frozen, the blood rushing to his head at the very thought. To not have to hold back for once...to let himself come as hard as he wanted to, without having that worry in the back of his head that he might unveil his secret identity to his boyfriend in the worst way possible…

Gasping, Barry started touching himself again.

He’d been going for another minute when the first vibration fluttered through him - and then the next, and then it was a solid, continuous thrum. It felt so fucking right, so incredible. Without even meaning to, he found himself moaning. At first he tried to shut himself up, but then he figured he was going to just enjoy this, come hell or high water. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the feeling. His hand was moving faster and faster, starting to blur. Frantically, Barry groped for the lube on the bedside table, squeezed a generous amount into his hand and went back to it. The coolness reminded him of Len’s fingers, and for a moment he dared to imagine what the older man would think of this. How he’d feel about Barry losing control so completely, vibrating all over, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and writhing rapturously on the bed.

_ Slut,  _ Len’s voice whispered in his head.

Barry shuddered, losing his rhythm for a second. Then he was back at it again in full force, squeezing himself more urgently. He thought about the look on Len’s face if he could see him now, imagined what he’d say. They both knew Barry liked a little bit of name-calling, that being called a slut made him determined to prove it. He closed his eyes, imagined Len murmuring to him.  _ God, look at you. Desperate for it. Can’t get enough, can you, Barry? So fucking greedy, you can’t help yourself. _

Swallowing, Barry grabbed the lube again and slicked up the fingers of his free hand. He wanted more. Needed… He worked one finger inside himself; it went easily, and his head spun, imagining the approving sound Len would have made if he’d seen it. His whole body was vibrating; when he opened his eyes, he saw literal sparks flying. That made him still, suddenly terrified that the bed might catch fire, but his whole body throbbed in protest and he decided he didn’t care. Let it catch alight, let it burn. He wouldn’t notice. He added a second finger, and then a filthy idea occurred to him.

Lately Doctor Wells had been encouraging Barry to try and isolate his vibrations. They knew he could - and did - vibrate when agitated, or angry, or aroused. He could vibrate his vocal chords, and his face to blur it from recognition. Wells wanted him to take it further, to focus on precision. He’d been teaching Barry to direct his vibrations to singular body parts - for example, his hands.

Theoretically, that meant he should be able to vibrate his fingers whilst they were inside him.

Barry’s whole body quivered in response to the thought. He added another finger a little too fast, making the stretch just on the edge of painful, a slight burn that turned him on more than it should’ve. Impatiently, he slowed his hand on his cock, focusing instead on opening himself up, spreading his fingers wide. He wanted more, felt starved for it. Keening at the feel of it, he almost gave up on the fingering and went for the plug instead, anything to make him feel  _ full,  _ but then he felt another tremor flicker through his body and he closed his eyes and let his fingers start vibrating.

“ _ Fuck -  _ ”

He came with lights flashing behind his eyelids, a fierce, white-hot orgasm that made his mind go blank for a few glorious seconds. The moment stretched out forever; his mouth hung open, sobbing helplessly as he fucked his way through the aftershocks, slipping through the mess in his hand. His fingers were wet, and it only made him more sensitive, so much so that it was almost unbearable. 

A few more frantic ruts into his hand and then he was done, collapsing bonelessly against the sheets. Dizzily, Barry stared at the ceiling. His fingers were still buried deeply inside himself; he felt his hole clench around them, but felt no desire to take them out. Every nerve in his body sang. 

He’d never had an orgasm like it; he’d used vibrators before, sure, but that was different. Maybe because his fingers were completely under his control, not operating under a manufactured rhythm the way a toy did...maybe it was just the shock of it. Breathlessly, Barry released his cock and brought his fingers to his mouth to taste himself, the way Len liked him to. 

Fuck, if only Len could have seen  _ that.  _ If only Barry could do that to him. Earth-shattering orgasms like that were a gift; they should be shared with the world. Barry wasn’t one to sleep around, but the fact that even Len wasn’t going to reap the benefits… It was criminal.

Almost absent-mindedly, Barry rubbed his thumb lightly over the head of his dick. He didn’t really think about it at first, but before he knew it, he was playing with it properly, applying a little pressure against the slit, teasing himself. Experimentally, he flexed the fingers that were still inside him. He’d never softened, and his dick twitched in response. 

Well, he thought. The experience  _ had  _ ended rather prematurely. Seemed like a shame not to have another go. After all, he was alone...who knew when such a prime opportunity would strike again? 

Grinning, Barry settled back against the pillows and let his hand start vibrating again. Just lightly, at first. He could build up to the good stuff in a few minutes.

Oh, he was going to have  _ fun  _ with this.

 

~*~

 

Len picked up his bike from the parking garage near to their department, drove to the other side of town and then parked it in Lisa’s driveway. She was away for the weekend, but she had excellent - and well-hidden - surveillance cameras. Just because Len was a thief didn’t mean he intended to let some asshole take his bike when his back was turned.

Then he took a short walk to the rendezvous point where he and Mick had agreed to meet. Mick was parked up in the usual nondescript white van, with fresh plates and a full tank of gas. Len swung up into the cab, dropped his bag at his feet, and then Mick backed out of the parking space and they were on the road.

“Big job,” Mick commented.

“Yep,” said Len, lounging back in his seat. “You ready?”

Mick gave him a look.

Satisfied, Len said, “And our associates?”

“Ready and waiting just outside the city limits. Briefed ‘em on the plan. They’re good to go.”

“Good,” Len said, glancing at his watch. Everything was set up and ready, his plans all set smoothly in motion. Just the way he liked it. 

He put his feet on the dashboard, pulled his goggles out of his pocket and slipped them on. 

“So,” he drawled. “It’s 106 miles to Gotham, we’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark and we’re wearing sunglasses.”

Mick put his foot down, grinned, and said, “Hit it.”

 

~*~

 

By the end of the day, Len wasn’t feeling quite so optimistic.

The heist had gone well, initially. Working a job in Gotham went against the grain, but these days Central City was a risky place to be a thief. Until he had a solid plan for when he went up against the Flash, he wasn’t going to risk catching his attention with a big job. Gotham, on the other hand, was far enough away that even the Flash couldn’t get there in time to catch him - and he didn’t seem interested in policing any of the other surrounding cities anyway. 

It was a fairly simple in-and-out heist, pinching a recently remastered painting from the Gotham City museum. Len had done most of his research from out of town, using schematics and watching people’s vlogs on Youtube to get a good look at the place from the inside - astonishingly difficult, when most of the vloggers appeared more interested in the sound of their own inane voices than the art or architecture. Gotham was a little far away for a field trip. But he had taken a ride down there one day, taken a couple of trips around the place to scope it all out. Made careful mental notes of all the exits and alarm systems and where all the security cameras were. Cataloguing their blind spots.

There was one alarm, a new and obnoxiously noisy one, that had slipped through the net of his observations and started wailing whilst they were carting the picture out through the back doors. Of course, Len’s meticulous timing had left room for such an issue; unbeknownst to his companions, he’d given them a little slack, a few spare minutes set aside just in case. Aside from Mick, who could be trusted to follow his orders to the letter, he hadn’t chosen to inform any of the others about the contingency plan, so they’d all been a little panicked when the alarm went off - but they made it out, with the painting intact. That was the main thing. A quick stop off at a safe house to hide it under the floorboards - real estate was a good investment, even in Gotham; he had properties dotted in numerous locations within a few hundred miles of Central - and then they were out, the only issue being that the cops had their registration number and were hot on their asses.

Ditching the van was an annoyance, but not an insurmountable issue. The lot of them ran like hell for a few blocks before Mick demonstrated his prowess for breaking and entering - specifically the breaking part. He let them into an old, slightly run-down property with a wonky For Sale sign in the front yard, and the five of them stole inside and crouched like rats in the dark until the sounds of sirens faded off into the distance.

Len straightened up, his joints crackling like a bowl of Rice Crispies. There was no way they’d be making it back to Central City that night. He’d’ve been hard-pressed to make it anyway, but with the cops still sniffing around searching for a group of guys dressed all in dark colours, two of them toting specialist weapons...he wasn’t in the mood for a chase tonight. Besides, they’d had to ditch the van, which meant stealing a new one, which meant more hassle, and it would all be so much easier twelve hours down the line with a clear head and a buyer lined up for the portrait. For now, he’d have to bide his time.

Before anyone else could, Len decided to stake his claim to the mouldering sofa in the centre of the room. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture - a few rickety chairs, a coffee table with rings on it, stuff that the previous owners had left behind when they moved out. All of it was tacky and in poor repair, but the sofa was probably the best of a bad bunch.

He dropped onto the sofa and put his feet up on the cushions, eliminating any chance of anyone sitting next to him. His boots left a muddy smear on the upholstery. He leaned back, careful not to grimace at the sensation of damp and mildew seeping into his skin. It wasn't just him and Mick tonight, which meant he had to keep his guard up. These new associates of his were strangers, called in just for this job. He hadn’t worked with them before, didn’t know how well they could be relied upon...or whether they had a healthy level of respect for his reputation. For all he knew, he might still have a point to prove. 

If he was real to them, then he was blood and bone and could bleed. But if he kept his distance, stayed cold and harsh, then they would be wary of him. That meant they'd be less likely to stab him in the back.  
  
He couldn't be Leonard Snart tonight. He had to be every inch Captain Cold.  
  
Settling back, he set his face into a careful mask of boredom and was just preparing for a long night of staring impassively at the ceiling when his phone started to buzz in his pocket.  
  
Without changing his expression, Len swung his legs off the couch and made his way to a distant corner of the room to answer it. If there was one thing bound to crack his facade, it would be taking lovey dovey phone calls from sweet CSI boyfriend Barry Allen.    
  
As he dug his phone out of his pocket, Len looked at Barry's face on the caller ID and hesitated. It was a jokey photo he'd snapped one day, Barry with his cheeks stuffed full of dumplings, looking like a hamster. His eyes were bright and happy. He looked so sweet and pure and fucking innocent that even answering the phone to speak to him in this dank and filthy crook-filled house felt like a violation. But he knew Barry would only start to worry if he didn't answer it, so he picked up.   


"Hey."   
  
"Hey, honey," Barry said cheerfully. "I was just wondering when to expect you home for dinner tonight? It's been a hell of a day, I can't wait to see you."   


Guilt prickled at him. Barry was at home eagerly awaiting his return, while here he was skulking around with a bunch of fellow lowlives waiting for the heat to die off the crime scene before he headed back into Central City.   


"I’m not gonna make it home tonight, Barr. Things got a little complicated with the job."   
  
"Bear?" came a raucous cry from across the room. "You got yourself a butch, Snart? He fuck you good and hard into the mattress?"   
  
Len gave the guy his meanest smirk and held up the cold gun in warning.    
  
"Who's that?" Barry asked warily.   
  
"Just some asshole I work with," Len said. "Don't worry about it. He'll be minus a few limbs once I'm done with this conversation."   
  
"Okay. So...you aren't coming home?"   
  
"I can't tonight. The job took longer than we were expecting; there's no way I can get home before all the public transport shuts off for the night."   
  
"Oh," Barry said quietly.   
  
Len imagined him sitting forlornly in their apartment by himself and felt a wave of self-loathing. During the rush of the job, when he was running for his life or punching the shit out of an obstacle, he always forgot about how shitty he tended to feel afterwards. When he thought of Barry, beautiful, brave, earnest Barry, sat at home while Len robbed and pillaged and murdered, all the while having no idea what he was sharing a roof with, he couldn't help feeling uneasy.   
  
It was never enough to outweigh the high of the job, though. Maybe Lisa was right when she described it as an addiction all those months ago.    


Lowering his voice, he said, "I'm sorry, Scarlet."   
  
"It's fine," Barry said bravely. "I'm happy the job is going so well for you. Really."  
  
He was, too. In spite of his disappointment, when things like this happened all too often, Len knew that Barry was proud of the job he thought Len had found for himself.  
  
"I'll make it up to you when I get back," he murmured. "Name your prize."   
  
"I'll think on it," Barry said. "I... I miss you. I love you."   
  
Len glanced across the room. Mick was polishing his gun, grunting occasionally with pleasure as he held it up to the light. Two of their associates were playing cards on the other side of the room. The third, however, was leering at Len. The temptation to shoot him was a little painful. Turning away, Len closed his eyes for a moment. They all had sharp ears; no matter how much he lowered his voice, chances were they’d still catch at least a bit of what he said. If he was going to keep their respect now, he had to be detached. Icy. It would probably be best if he was an asshole and hung up before the conversation went any further but there were some lengths he wasn’t willing to go to to keep the respect of a few empty-headed hunks of muscle. He’d just have to get off the phone as soon as possible.   
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”   
  
On the other end of the phone, Barry’s breath caught, obviously hurt by the dismissal. A sudden ache started in Len’s chest. He could imagine the look on Barry’s face all too easily. It hurt to think about.   
  
“Right,” Barry said flatly. “Well I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days. Or whenever it is you decide to come back.”   
  
Fuck. Now he’d upset Barry, and chances were that the hired help were all going to take the piss out of him anyway. “Barr.”   
  
“Bye,” Barry said.   
  
“ _ Barry _ .”   
  
Barry stopped and waited. Honestly Len was a little astonished that he hadn’t hung up already. As ever, Barry was demonstrating how little Len deserved him. It was one of the all-too frequent moments when he had to sit and marvel at how fortunate he’d been. For once in his life he had something good, something pure and perfect. He wasn’t going to mess it up for the sake of these goons.   
  
“I love you,” Len told him. “Really.”   
  
There was a short pause. “Bad day?” Barry asked softly.   
  
“Kind of. It’s a long story.”   
  
“Tell me all about it when you get back,” Barry said. “And sleep well. I want you back here with me.”   
  
“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Len promised. “Goodnight.”   
  
“Goodnight,” Barry said.   
  
The phone clicked and then there was nothing but the low drone of the dial tone on the end of the line. All of a sudden Len was appallingly lonely. He had Mick, but Mick wasn’t exactly the cuddly type. And he’d shoot himself before he started getting pally with these assholes. Maybe he’d play cards with them if he got really desperate, but that sort of thing tended to end badly in their circles. Everyone tried to cheat everyone else and whoever was the worst cheat tended to get pissed off fast. It often ended in bloodshed, and he wasn’t in the mood to beat someone up tonight. All he was in the mood for was to curl up in bed with Barry and listen to the sound of his heartbeat. Best sound in the world.   
  
“Don’t know why you bother, Snart.”   
  
It was the man who had been jeering while he was on the phone. Of course. He was probably too stupid to play cards, so he was getting his kicks by making weak jibes instead.    
  
On the other side of the room, Mick gave a cursory look up from his gun and made eye contact with Len. He tilted his head slightly. Len shook his own head in return; he’d deal with this dick. Disdainfully, he raised his eyebrows at the asshole. He didn’t honour the remark with a verbal response.   
  
“Too much hassle, playing domestic,” the man said. “You got some kept boy at home, is that it? You’d be far better off with a nice hooker. You’d never notice the difference. ...Hooker might be a bit quieter.”   
  
Calmly, Len said, “You say one more word and I’ll put a big block of ice in your skull.”   
  
The man held his hands up, but the mocking look on his face suggested he wasn’t taking the threat at all seriously. That was fine. Len would have no qualms at all about following through on it. He prowled back over to the sofa and threw himself down onto the upholstery; the sofa groaned in protest before settling under his weight. There was a dirty magazine lying on the coffee table, so he picked it up and began idly flipping through it. Dozens of women with hair in disarray pouted and gaped at him, all of them beautiful, none of them catching his interest. At home, Barry would probably be slipping into bed, wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips. A thought far more arousing than this whole magazine full of skimpily dressed strangers. He almost tossed the magazine back onto the table in disgust, but for the sake of keeping up appearances he held onto it. Damn porno mags didn’t even have a crossword he could fill to pass the time.   
  
The couch sank at one end as the man sat on the end of it, narrowly missing Len’s legs. Scowling, Len shifted his feet out of the way.   
  
“So do you take it, or dish it out?”   
  
“I’m about to dish out something,” Len said loudly, reaching down to put one hand on his cold gun.  
  
“I’m guessing you take it. You don’t seem like the type, but it’s always the quiet ones. You called him ‘Bear’, so I’m guessing he’s bigger than you. You get pounded into the mattress, Snart? You like it good and hard?”   
  
Without looking up, Len raised the cold gun and blasted him in the chest.   
  
The blast knocked the man over the arm of the sofa; he hit the floor with a crunch and lay there gasping. It had been a fairly short burst of energy on the gun’s lowest setting, maybe enough to give the guy first degree frostbite, maybe only enough to give him a shock. Either way, it was immensely satisfying. Without lowering the gun, Len went back to his magazine.   
  
“Don’t test me,” he said. “I’m not in a good mood.”   
  
Spluttering, the man lay on the floor. His card-playing associates stared dumbfounded from him to Leonard and back again.   
  
“What the hell?” one of them demanded.   
  
“My sexual preferences are none of your concern,” Len said boredly. “Your concerns are getting rich and staying alive, in that order. The only use I have for you is watching my back while I steal as much as I can carry; since you’ve already fulfilled that purpose, it would be wise to keep your thoughts to yourself.”   
  
“Is that a threat?” the other card-player asked.   
  
Meanwhile, the first man was still choking on the floor, tearing off his shirt to assess the damage. If Len knew his gun as well as he thought he did - and he had become intimately familiar with it of late - it hadn’t done more than tickle him, just enough power behind the blast to knock him senseless but not enough to do anything serious. If the guy didn’t have the sense to stay down, that could easily be rectified.   
  
“Are you threatening us?” repeated the card player, louder this time, as if Len was as mentally deficient as him and his associates.   
  
“I’d hoped that was obvious. Let me put this another way: if your friend wants to get his rocks off by speculating as to what I do in bed, he should at least have the decency to do it in another room.”   
  
As he’d suspected, the insinuation that any of them might find Len’s sexual preferences arousing made them all shut up instantly. The propensity straight men had for desperately dissociating themselves with anything even mildly homoerotic could always be relied upon. Len was sure that he’d never been so pathetic when  _ he  _ thought he was straight.    
  
“If you’re done squealing,” he said to the man on the floor, “I’d quite like to get some shut-eye. I’ve got a kept boy at home who needs screwing into the mattress first thing tomorrow and I’d hate to keep him waiting.”   
  


~*~

  
  
That night Barry lay in bed with his eyes wide open and an increasing feeling of discontent.   
  
It had been a quiet, lazy day; he’d spent a good few hours in bed, experimenting. And oh, what experiments he’d conducted. Touching himself until he was completely done, couldn’t possibly wring another orgasm out of himself. It had taken four, in the end, before he was totally sated, but fuck, it had been worth it. Afterwards he felt like he was walking on air, his entire body light with relief. He hadn’t even picked up on the undercurrent of near-constant arousal he’d been feeling until it was satisfied. Turned out his libido had sped up with everything else. To an extent he’d known that, but discovered exactly how  _ much  _ it had increased had been… an adventure.

After that, his day continued to be almost concerningly peaceful, consisting purely of Netflix on the couch and nothing else to worry about. No rogue metas, no extra work from Singh, no family meetings or trouble at S.T.A.R Labs. He’d been looking forward to an evening in with Len, had contemplated a take-away and then decided no, he’d do something romantic. He’d cooked a full meal - a roast dinner, nothing particularly fancy, but it was homely - and decked the kitchen table with a fancy red and gold cloth and some candles of varying lengths. He’d even baked a souffle. Then he’d sat down to wait for Leonard to come home, two glasses of wine already poured and a glow of excitement in his belly.   
  
The food was curdling in the oven from his attempts to keep it warm and the candles were little more than greasy stubs swimming in melted wax when he finally called Len to find out how long he was going to be. Finding that the answer was another whole day had been like a kick in the stomach; Len’s brush-off when Barry confessed to missing him was far worse than that. He’d taken it back, said he loved him properly and softened the blow, and Barry knew deep down that he’d probably just been surrounded by macho assholes at the time and didn’t want to lose face, but confronted by the sulking remains of the dinner he’d made them both, it still stung.    
  
Having lost his appetite, he picked at the roast, ended up scraping most of it into the bin and then ate the entire souffle by himself to vent his feelings. By the time he was done, he felt sick and bloated (God help him if any metas started running wild over the course of the next few days; he’d never catch them, he was like a lion that gorged itself on antelope until it was too fat to move) and not at all better. After an hour or so curled up on the couch watching the shitty reality TV that Len refused to sit through, he gave up and went to bed.    
  
That was where he remained for several more hours, staring at the ceiling and moping over the cold side of the bed where Len should have been. Even sprawling out like a starfish didn’t make their bed feel any more full.   
  
They needed to talk about it. That much was certain. As proud as Barry was that Len had found himself this job, he was tired of coming home all the time to an empty apartment and a note saying that Len was off on some job or another. Surely they could get him to clean places closer to home? Admittedly his frequent absences made Barry’s Flash stuff easier to hide, but sometimes after a long day of running rings around metahumans he just wanted to curl up on the couch with his boyfriend, and it didn’t seem to be happening very often any more.   
  
With a huff, Barry got out of bed. Sleep didn’t appear to be coming any time soon; he might as well use this time to run a few laps of the city. The sole advantage of Len not being around was that there was nobody to question why he was getting up in the middle of the night.    
  
He shot down to S.T.A.R Labs, tapped in his security code to stop the alarms from blaring, put on the suit and was out again before the system had even registered his code. Then, he started rocketing around the streets. One of his favourite parts of running was that it helped him think, but it was also all too easy to just lose himself in the speed force and not think at all. Put his head down and just focus on running. That was what he needed tonight. Not to stop any bad guys, or take down any metas. Just run away from all of the uncomfortable errant thoughts snapping at his heels.   
  
By the time he was back at S.T.A.R Labs hanging the suit back up and changing into his normal clothes, he was that deep kind of bone tired that promised sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He got home with a deep-seated sense of relief and fell fully clothed onto the bed, where he fell asleep almost instantly.   
  
Unfortunately it was the weekend, so when he awoke he still had far too much time on his hands and nothing to do. He rung around all of his friends, desperate to find someone who would be willing to hang out with him, but Cisco had been roped into a family dinner, Caitlin made some vague excuse which made it very clear she didn’t want to see him, and Iris was spending the day with Eddie. Alone. He gathered that very few clothes were going to be involved and hastily ended that conversation.   
  
It was at that moment that Barry concluded he was in dire need of more friends.    
  
For want of anything better to do he cleaned the entire apartment, reorganised his wardrobe and read four books. The trouble with the speed force was that it made killing time very difficult. Barry wasn’t sure when he’d lost all semblance of patience, but his viewpoint was why do something at normal speed that could be accomplished far more easily at three hundred miles per hour?   
  
The fault in this reasoning, of course, was that he was lying on the sofa groaning at the ceiling and he’d only managed to kill forty minutes.    
  
Not that Barry was one to actively seek trouble (actually, that was a lie) but he was almost wishing some power-hungry meta would start smashing up the city, just to give him something to do. Unfortunately, all the bad guys seemed to be having a lazy day.   
  
He decided after some thought to go and visit his dad at Iron Heights. That, at least, he wouldn’t ruin by rushing it. Spending time with his father was one of the few things he didn’t feel the urge to do more quickly. 

He did, however, run all the way to the prison. After all, when he could run this fast, there was no point in taking the bus.   
  


~*~   


  
“Rough night?”   
  
On the other side of the glass, his dad was looking wryly at him, eyes twinkling. Even in the drab prison uniform, he managed to look more put-together than Barry, who still looked a mess in spite of the ten hours of sleep he’d managed.   
  
“That obvious?” he asked with a grimace.   
  
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”   
  
“Thanks.”   
  
His dad laughed at him. “You’re welcome. So how’re things?”   
_  
Crazy _ , Barry wanted to say. “Good,” he said instead.    
  
As much as he’d have liked to tell his dad about all the weird stuff going on in his life, confessing to being the Flash in a room full of cops was a terrible idea. Seeing was believing, anyway. Although his father was one of the few people who had never thought Barry was crazy, that would soon change if he started blathering about being a superhero. Henry Allen had good reason to believe that his son wasn’t lying about a man in a yellow suit murdering his mother in front of him, since the alternative story was that Henry had killed her himself, which they both knew he hadn’t. He did not, however, have a good reason to believe that Barry was the Flash without a practical demonstration. Barry didn’t intend to give him one.   
  
“How’s that boyfriend of yours?”   
  
Barry slumped forwards. The one topic he’d been hoping to avoid. Of course his dad had managed to hit the nail right on the head with that one; it was Barry’s fault for not derailing the conversation quicker, he supposed.   
  
“Not sure,” he admitted. “Things have been...weird lately.”   
  
“Weird how?”   
  
“He has this job…”   
  
“Yeah, I heard about that.”   
  
“You did?”   
  
Henry shrugged. “Leonard came by every now and then while you were in the coma, to keep me updated. Not that there was ever much to update me on. But we talked. He told me all about his odd hours.”   
  
“They just seem to be getting odder,” Barry complained. “He didn’t come home at all last night. He said he was too far away and he’d never get back in time, but that makes no sense. He works for a cleaning company. I know it’s all contracted, but why would they pay to send someone that far just to clean a building? Surely they have someone closer who could do the job.”   
  
“Maybe he’s just a really great janitor,” Henry joked. “No, you’re right. That does sound a little weird… but are you sure that’s what’s bothering you?”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
Henry leaned in a little. “Is it the weirdness that’s bothering you, or just the fact that he’s not here?”   
  
Barry closed his eyes. “I just miss him,” he admitted. “It seems like we never see each other any more. Our schedules clash constantly, and I’m helping out a lot at S.T.A.R Labs during my free time. He doesn’t like that, I know it, but they have tests to run. They think they can use what happened to me to help other people. If I can help, surely I have an obligation to do whatever I can?”   
  
“He doesn’t see it that way,” guessed Henry.   
  
“Not at all.”   
  
“Have you talked to him about it? It’s not a good idea to let these things fester. Small disagreements like that, they blow up. One minute you’re bickering about who burned the toast and the next minute you’re yelling about something that ticked you off six months ago that never got resolved. Leonard strikes me as the type to bottle things up, he keeps everything very close to his chest. Has it occurred to you that maybe he’s doing this on purpose?”   
  
Barry frowned. “You think he’s avoiding me?”   
  
“To punish you? Maybe. He does kind of seem like the type. Maybe it’s not so much of a punishment as a way to keep the two of you from discussing this. If he’s not comfortable with talking about his feelings - and he was always stiff as a board with me whenever I tried to get all touchy feely - then he could well be trying to avoid confrontation.”   
  
“Oh,” Barry said with a small smile, “trust me, it’s not that. He’s good at confrontation.”   
  
“I don’t mean yelling at each other,” Henry said amusedly, “God knows I hear you’re both good at that. I mean opening up. Confronting each other about what’s really bothering you. It’s hard for anyone, but it has to be done. Alternatively he might not even know that him not being around is getting to you. You have a gift, Barr - you’ve never been shy about your feelings. It’s one reason why I’m proud of you. A lot of guys your age carry the world around on their shoulders. God knows your burden is heavier than most, but you aren’t afraid to share it. You have no idea how much of a relief it is to me, knowing that if things get hard then you’ll ask someone to help you out. So ask him.”   
  
“Has anyone ever told you that you give great advice?” Barry asked. “You should consider becoming an Agony Aunt. Or Uncle.”   
Henry snorted. “Hell, no. I have enough hassle trying to deal with your problems. Everyone else can handle their own.” His eyes twinkled. “Take care of yourself, slugger.”   
  
“Thanks, Dad.”   
  


~*~

  
  
Mid-afternoon, Len finally got back to find Barry curled up morosely on the couch, wearing a cavernous t-shirt that had seen a few too many washes, and some cosy-looking socks. He was watching a boring-looking documentary about God knows what, but when Len came in his whole face lit up.   
  
“Hey!”   
  
“Hey, you,” Len said, and he dropped down on the couch, making the springs squeal protestingly. He pulled Barry close and kissed him deeply, relishing in having him back in his arms again. He was soft and cosy and smelt like he’d just had a shower, and when Len rubbed the pad of his thumb across his cheek he sighed in the sweetest way.   
  
“Welcome home,” Barry said softly.   
  
“You miss me?”   
  
“Always.”   
  
Getting settled on the couch, Len lifted his arm. Barry wasted no time curling up against him, his head resting on Len’s lap so the older man could run his fingers through his hair, feeling the silky weight of it carding through his fingertips. The warm weight of him resting there seemed to take all of the weight off Len’s shoulders; all of his bitterness and annoyance from the night before, the tension from where he’d been so tightly wound as he waited to make his move and start thieving. All his irritation towards his comrades and the damp from that damn couch faded away a little - although he still might start angling for one of Barry’s massages later, just to work the last of the knots out of him. Closing his eyes, he let himself relax for the first time since he and Mick had driven off in that van the day before.    
  
“So what did you do while I was gone?”   
  
“I made dinner,” Barry said sleepily. “But you weren’t here. I had to throw it away. It wasn’t very nice.”   
  
“I’m sorry I missed it.” The kid had made him dinner and sat waiting for him to get back while he was kipping on a mouldy couch with a suitcase full of stolen goods at his feet. Len felt a stab of shame.   
  
“S’okay. You would probably have laughed. It didn’t go so well...I left it in the oven too long to keep it warm for you.”   
  
“I appreciate that,” Len told him. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. Next time I’ll be here. I’ll eat it all, even if it’s disgusting.”   
  
“My cooking isn’t disgusting. Maybe I’m not as good as you, but I can feed myself.”   
  
“You were living on unseasoned ramen noodles when I met you.”   
  
“I’m a simple man,” Barry objected. “I don’t need much. Nothing fancy. Just a little bit of effort every now and then. Goes a long way.”   
  
Len didn’t think they were talking about the food any more. Cautiously, he said, “What are you saying, Scarlet?”   
  
Tensing a little, Barry burrowed his head into Len’s shoulder. His voice came out muffled. “Just that I wish you were here more. That’s all.”   
  
“I warned you that I kept strange hours.”   
  
“There’s strange, and then there’s staying out all night. You’re a janitor. Surely there are janitors in other cities who can clean just as well as you can. Why do you have to be shipped out to all these ridiculous places to clean for them? Central City is filthy, they must need you here.”   
  
“It’s contract work, Barry, I go where the job takes me. I thought you were pleased I finally got a job. It took me a long time to get this job.”   
  
“I am pleased,” Barry said, “but you could give me a little more warning! I wanted to spend the night with you and it wasn’t until after I cooked dinner that you told me you weren’t coming home. You never even told me _ when  _ you were coming home.”   
  
“There were unforeseen complications.”   
  
Complications such as almost getting caught by the cops and having to sprint around Gotham with a multi-million dollar piece of artwork on his shoulders, then being forced to sleep in a leaky old house with a bunch of idiots in case the cops were still crawling around investigating anybody who drove past. Such as having to deal with whining and groaning all night from the bastard he’d shot, who was convinced he needed medical attention in spite of not having a scratch on him. Len had wanted to shoot him properly and be done with it, but then he’d have to shoot the other two mindless grunts as well and he really wasn’t in the mood for disposing of three bodies at that time of night.    
  
“What does that even mean?” demanded Barry.   
  
“It means I’m sorry and I’ll call next time to let you know,” he said flatly. “Now can we just drop it?”   
  
“Actually, I don’t think we can. It’s really starting to bother me now. We can’t just keep ignoring it. You’re out all the time; I can understand you having weird hours but you can’t even tell me how long your shifts are or how long you’ll be away for, not even a day in advance. I’m pretty sure that if your company isn’t giving you any notice at all you should try to report them. And even when you’re not working you’re always out with Mick, which wouldn’t be a problem if I knew you two were just bowling or doing something normal, but knowing Mick that’s extremely unlikely - ”   
  
“Watch what you say, Scarlet; I don’t like the way this is going…”   
  
“You could be doing anything,” Barry said, and now he was sat bolt upright on the couch, flushed. “You could be anywhere. How can I trust you if I don’t know where you are? What if you were hurt, or sick. I wouldn’t know! Most people know what their partner is doing every night - most people have their partner right there with them. Where are you?”   
  
“Forgive me for saying so, but this is all sounding kind of hypocritical,” Len said, steepling his fingers. He knew it was infuriating; he looked sardonically at Barry over the tips of his fingers.   
  
It had the desired effect; Barry puffed up like an over-inflated balloon. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”   
  
“It means I’m not the only one skulking around at odd hours of the night. If you’re not at work, you’re at S.T.A.R Labs, or you’re hanging around with those freak scientists or with the police. Even when I am here, our paths don’t often seem to cross. You know how I feel about you being Wells’ lab rat, but you don’t let that stop you from kissing his ass.”   
  
Barry opened and closed his mouth several times. “That’s not fair.”   
  
“Neither is you accusing me of cheating on you or calling my friend a thug.”   
  
“I never said that!”   
  
“It was heavily implied,” Len said. “So go on, who am I sleeping with, Barry, huh? Enlighten me. Is it Mick? Nope, doubt that, since the only thing Mick is interested in is lighting things on fire. Or maybe it’s Sara, who I haven’t seen in weeks. Or maybe it’s my sister, would you like to accuse me of sleeping with her? God knows I don’t have many other associates I could fool around with. Don’t you think it’s a little bit rich to accuse me of sneaking around when that’s all you ever do lately? Ignoring the fact that I’d be hard pressed to sleep with anyone else anyway, considering your sex drive is so high I can barely keep up with you as it is - ”   
  
“There is _ nothing  _ I can do about that - ”   
  
“Maybe _ you’re  _ cheating on  _ me _ . Do you think I haven’t considered it? I can’t satisfy you, so you’re looking for it elsewhere. Trust me Barry, I’ve thought about it, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you did.”   
  
“How could you think that? How could you - I _ love  _ you!”   
  
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Len said coldly, and he got up. “I’m going out.”   
  
“We’re not done talking!”   
  
“Oh,” Len said, “I think we’re done.” His jacket was hanging on the rack; he shrugged it on, threw the door open and stormed out before Barry could stop him.   
  
He was halfway down the stairs when the door flew open. Barry had no shoes on; he slipped down the stairs with his socks swishing on the lino. In his combat boots, Len stomped far more impressively down another flight of stairs. There was no slam of the door; Barry left it wide open as he hurried in pursuit.   
  
“Len, wait!”   
  
“Go back inside. If you leave the door open like that someone’s going to rob us.”   
  
“I don’t care! Wait - will you just listen to me?”   
  
“So you can yell at me some more about my job and accuse me of something else I haven’t done? I don’t think so.”   
  
Len stepped outside onto the street, certain that would be the end of it. He underestimated Barry’s determination; the kid followed him, wincing as the cold concrete seeped through his socks and bits of stone got stuck to his soles. Limping and staggering, Barry gave chase.   
  
“Len, come on - ”   
  
“You’ll catch your death. Get back into the apartment.”   
  
“Not until you listen to me!”   
  
The urge to start singing “I’m not listening!” and cover his ears was unreal. It was that more than anything which made Len turn around; he didn’t want to be childish about this. There were very few times in life when he could say he had the moral high-ground, and he was determined that this was going to be one of them.   
  
Turning around, he folded his arms. Barry stood up very straight; his hair was standing on end, his cheeks pink - with cold or anger or a combination of both - and there were goosebumps standing up on his arms. In a thin cotton shirt and jeans and a very damp pair of socks, he would almost certainly catch a cold within the next five minutes.   
  
“Go back inside,” Len said a little more gently. “It’s cold out here.”   
  
“Stop walking away from me. We need to talk about this.”   
  
The kid was shivering. Bleeding hearts had never affected Len much, but apparently when it was Barry, it was a special case. The sight of him looking so small and shaky on the pavement made Len’s resolve crumble like a badly built sandcastle.   
  
“Fine,” he said. “But let’s go back inside. I’m not being a public spectacle for the neighbours.”   
  
He looked up meaningfully. There was a particular woman who lived in the apartment across the hallway from them who lived and breathed gossip; she had a remarkably stretchy neck, like a heron, and liked to crane it to peer out of windows and around doorways in order to absorb as much information as possible, none of it concerning her. Len didn’t intend to be her latest topic of discussion when she shuffled down to a friend’s house in her carpet slippers.   
  
Barry gave a jerky nod and they headed back up the stairs, Barry slipping and sliding a little in his socks. When they got back to their apartment, the door was very firmly closed. Len frowned.   
  
“I thought you left it open.”   
  
“I did.”   
  
Maybe it was on the latch. Len had an unfortunate sinking feeling telling him that it most definitely wasn’t, but he had enough residual optimism left to try the door anyway. It was firmly and decidedly locked.    
  
Already knowing it was futile, he checked his pockets and came up empty (he’d emptied them of incriminating - and useful - items before he got home, in case Barry decided to do laundry.) There was no point even asking if Barry had keys; he didn’t even have pockets in his pyjama bottoms. None of the neighbours had a spare key either; Len had refused to give them one. Heron woman from down the hall would probably love to have a key and go snooping through their possessions while they were out.   
  
“Great,” Len said flatly. “We’re locked out.”   
  
“Seriously?”    
  
Barry’s teeth were chattering. There was a draught coming down that hallway from somewhere that they’d repeatedly complained about, but the landlord had done nothing whatsoever to remedy it. If Len hadn’t been pissed off, he would have put his arm around the kid to keep him from shaking. As it was, he gave the door a light kick.   
  
“Why did you close the door?”   
  
“I didn’t! I specifically left it open, you know I did!”   
  
Oh, he knew. He just wanted someone to yell at. Chances were it was the draught that had closed it, but he wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. “Well it looks like we’re going to have to get someone to come over and let us back in.”   
  
“I’ll call Iris.” Barry reached into his pocket, and then his face fell. He groaned. “Fuck. My phone’s still in the apartment.”   
  
“So’s mine.” Len was getting the urge to start kicking that door a whole lot harder. If he’d had the chance to sell that fucking painting before he got home, he probably would have done just that, knocked it down and paid for someone to install a new one, but priceless paintings were kind of a niche market and it was going to be a while before he had the chance to shift it. “So now what?”   
  
In the end, Barry went off to knock on the neighbours’ doors and meekly ask to borrow one of their phones. Len sat sulkily with his back to their door; none of the neighbours had taken a shine to him like they had to Barry, maybe because he never bothered speaking to any of them. Anyway, in his socks and baggy t-shirt Barry cut a far more sympathetic figure than he did.    
  
The only neighbour at home was Heron Lady, who eyed Barry very suspiciously when he made his request. As was the case with many nosy people, she was herself obnoxiously private, and refused to let him into her apartment; she unspooled the cord on the landline and stretched it to its limit, forcing Barry to make his call from just outside the door with the phone straining frantically to ping back into the apartment. Once he was done, she whisked the phone back out of his hands and slammed the door in their faces, though she was almost certainly peering at them through the peephole in the door. Old bat.   
  
Barry shuffled back to where Len sat by the door. “Iris will be here in about an hour,” he said tiredly. “She’s staying at Eddie’s on the other side of town, but she’ll be as fast as she can.”   
  
“Great. So we’re stuck out here freezing our asses off for an hour. Nice going, genius.”   
  
Barry didn’t bother to argue this time; he just hunched up, drew his knees up to his chest and sat there. After a while, Len gave up trying to be pissed off; he unzipped his jacket and draped it around the kid’s shoulders. Gratefully, Barry huddled up underneath it. Len slipped an arm around him, pulling him closer, and Barry leaned into him with a sigh.   
  
“You know I don’t really think you’re cheating on me, right?” he asked quietly. “I know you’d never do that. And I’d never do that to you either. I love you; I don’t want anybody else.”   
  
“I know,” Len said. “I just enjoy being an asshole.”   
  
Barry sighed again. “I just get so frustrated. We’re both so busy all the time...I know we can’t help that. And I know you hate me being at S.T.A.R Labs all the time, but the research they’re doing on me could really make a difference. I just want to help people. The accident… the lightning gave me this incredible metabolism and it sped up the way I heal as well. If they can replicate that the repercussions would be unreal. They could make paraplegics walk again, potentially.”   
  
“And why does it have to be you? Why do you have to save the world?”   
  
Barry shrugged. “Why shouldn’t it be me? If I can help people, surely I have the obligation to at least try and do something good in the world. It’s not like I’m being held against my will at S.T.A.R Labs. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”   
  
Len sighed. “Sometimes I wish you were a little less self-sacrificing. But I guess you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.” He leaned back a little, and Barry turned to look him in the eyes. “Just promise me that if it ever starts to become dangerous to you, then you’ll stop. If all you have to do is let them take medical readings and take blood samples from you every now and then, I can live with that. But if you are putting yourself at risk just to help some hypothetical stranger then I want you to promise me you’ll put a stop to it.”   
  
There was a hesitation that Len didn’t much like, but then Barry sighed. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to me,” he said. “You have my word on that.”   
  
“Fine,” Len grumbled. Not quite the promise he was looking for, but he’d take it. Either way it probably didn’t do any harm to be a little more generic. That meant he could hold him to his promise even when it came to things like looking both ways when he crossed the road, or not being involved in any more natural disasters.   
  
They settled into a comfortable silence, Barry cuddled up against Len’s side stealing as much warmth from him as he could. Leaning against the door was already starting to hurt, and the floor wasn’t particularly comfortable either. Len shifted his weight and resisted the urge to gripe about it. Barry’s skinny ass was probably suffering more than him anyway; kid didn’t have any extra padding to fall back on.   
  
“Did you mean it about not being able to keep up with me?” Barry asked quietly. “I know my… uh. My sex drive has been kind of ridiculous lately. I’ll try to tone it down.”   
  
“It’s fine, Barr. Mostly I worry that I’m getting too old for that kind of shit.” He snorted. “I seriously hope that’s not the case. It’s never been a problem before.”   
  
“You’re definitely not too old. When we do…y’know...it’s great. Perfect. It’s just like I can’t get enough.” He gave Len a sideways look. “You should probably take it as a compliment.”   
  
“Trust me, I do. But you know if you ever need more from me, I’ll give you whatever I can. All you have to do is ask. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not getting what you need from me.”   
  
“Sex-wise I’m getting exactly what I need from you.” Barry hesitated. “It’s the...emotional side of things that seems to be falling by the wayside lately.”   
  
“I’ve never been good at hearts and flowers, Scarlet. You know that.”   
  
“You’re better at it than you think. But I don’t need hearts and flowers. I just need us to spend more time together. I know that’s something I need to work on as well. It just feels like we’re running parallel to each other these days. Never quite meeting up… You get in just as I leave; I fall asleep just as you head off to work. I know you can’t do anything about your hours, but we both need to work on finding more time for each other. I miss you.”   
  
His words made Len’s chest tighten. How could he explain that he’d been wilfully avoiding the kid even when he didn’t have a job lined up? Barry thought the sun shone out of his ass and only a week ago he’d been washing some guy’s blood off his hands before he came home to touch Barry with them. To sully the kid with all the vile things he’d done. Never before had Len had cause to be ashamed of his criminal activities; it had always been survival of the fittest for him. But Barry hadn’t been raised that way, and the thought of how appalled he’d be if he ever found out about Len’s real job was repugnant. He’d be lucky if Barry didn’t run away and never look back.   
  
There were so many things he loved about stealing. For one, he loved not having to work. Stealing left so much time for everything else; when other dumb bastards (like Barry) were out there working thirty or forty hour weeks and barely making enough to pay the rent, Len and Mick could spend a few days planning a heist and an hour or so actually pulling it off and come out with twice as much cash as the people making an honest living. Then there was the rush of it, better than any kind of drug. That giddy euphoria he got when he was running for his life. And the way everything went cold when he had the barrel of his gun pointed at somebody’s head; all the confusion in his life suddenly slotted into place, like a Rubik's cube clicking perfectly into neat squares. It all made sense, then. He didn’t have to be afraid. That was a feeling he’d spent a long time trying to quell, and there were very few times when it really went away.   
  
“I know,” he said. “Look, I have some holidays due. How about I take the week off? No taking off at odd hours, no last minute date cancellations. Just you and me spending some time together."   
  
"That sounds fantastic." There was a guilty pause. "But, uh. I don't actually have any holidays left right now. I just took nine months off, so. You know. Don't really have an excuse to be asking for any time off right now."   
  
"It's fine. I'll stay here while you work. You get home, I'll make dinner, and then we'll do whatever we want. Just like old times."   
  
"That sounds perfect," Barry said. "Thank you. But will you be able to get the time off at such short notice?"   
  
Len hid a smirk. "My boss is pretty accommodating. He has to be, or he'd have no employees left what with the god-awful hours we keep. Just as soon as we're back inside I'll make the call."   
  
"I can't believe I locked us out." Barry banged the back of his head lightly against the wall. "I'm an idiot."   
  
"Quit bashing yourself in the head or you soon will be. You can't afford to lose any more brain cells."   
  
"Such a charmer," Barry said wryly. "Remind me why it is I keep you around?"   
  
"Culinary prowess, good in bed, I pay half the rent..."   
  
“Oh, right,” said Barry. “I knew there was something.”   
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished with my assignments! Now I get an entire week off so hopefully I'll have time to do more editing on this and update faster :)


	25. Chapter 25

Jitters was quiet when Len arrived. One guy waiting to be served, one barista clearing tables, and Iris behind the counter. Good. Len had never been a patient man, and queues tended to give him itchy fingers. When someone was stood in front of you with their wallet sticking enticingly out of their back pocket for minutes at a time, how was one supposed to resist taking it?  
  
But he was being good today. He had an agenda.

He stayed back until the other customer had been served, and kept an eye on Iris to judge her mood. She was wiping the counter with a faraway look on her face. Len decided to go and interrupt her.   
  
Ambling up to the counter, he said, "Iris."   


Her expression soured so quickly that Len almost laughed. With difficulty, he kept a straight face.   


"Leonard," she said coolly.   
  
"It's been a while. You look better than the last time I saw you."    
  
She folded her arms, dropping the dishcloth on the counter. "You mean when you banged on my door and tore a new one out of me for ratting to Barry? And then turned _ me  _ into the bad guy by going all pious and stabbing me in the back?"   


As a matter of fact Len had actually been thinking of that night at Carmichael Elementary, when the last he'd seen of Iris was her battering ineffectively at a pair of locked doors like a bluebottle buzzing at a closed window. But for obvious reasons, he couldn't tell her that.   


"You're not still mad about that, are you?" he asked, leaning against the counter.   
"You wanted to know about the Flash just as badly as I did. Only difference was you didn't have the guts to stand up for yourself."  
  
She  _ was _ still pissed. It was impressive. 

"I'm not here to pick an argument," Len said.

"Then why are you here? I'm working, Leonard. I don't have time for this."   


Judging by the emptiness of the place, she had plenty, but Len didn't point this out.    


"What do you want?" repeated Iris.   
  
"Large black coffee," said Len. "Two sugars. Oh, and two of those delicious looking doughnuts. If that's alright with you." He tapped the glass.    
  
"To go?" Iris asked hopefully.    
  
"Nope. I think I'll sit in."    
  
Scowling, Iris set about her business, making his coffee with incredibly poor grace. Len leaned obnoxiously against the counter and wondered whether he could get away with slipping his fingers into the tip jar. Probably not. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to Iris.  
  
"So how're things?"   
  
"Fine," she said.    
  
"How's Eddie?"    
  
"Great."    
  
Len decided to try another tactic. "I really do need to thank him. Remind me to buy him a drink some time."    
  
She took the bait. "What for?"    
  
"Barry recently expressed an interest in learning a little self defence. I taught him what I could, but dirty bar fights are more my forte. Eddie was more than happy to help me expand his education in a more... constructive manner."    
  
Iris had paused over the coffee machine. "When was this?"    
  
"Not long ago. You and Barry still weren't talking at the time...what, Eddie didn't mention it?"    
  
"No, he didn't." Iris dropped two sugar cubes into Len's coffee with more force than necessary, coffee splashing onto the counter.    


Len kept his smirk carefully concealed.  _ Sorry, Eddie _ , he thought. Still, the two of them seemed to have a stupidly idyllic relationship anyway. A few arguments would keep things interesting.  
  
"Hm," he said. "And Wally?"  
  
"What about him?"   
  
Len shrugged one shoulder. "Haven't seen him since our disastrous dinner party. Perhaps you didn't hear about that."    
  
"Oh, I heard. It's so childish, Barry and Wally fighting over my dad like kids with a toy truck. I could bang their heads together." She thrust his coffee across the counter, spilling a little in her annoyance. "Then again, you're no better. Wally told me about your little conversation. Do you often threaten teenage boys on Barry's behalf?"    
  
Reaching for his coffee, Len shrugged. "When I have to. Don't forget the doughnuts."  
  
Iris glared. She reached for her tongs, and deliberately started raking through the doughnuts to find the smallest, least appetising ones. Len had to admire her remarkable dedication to pettiness; it was something he'd have done.  
  
"Wally and Barry are as bad as each other for the most part, but there are some things I won't tolerate. Wally started hitting below the belt. I made it very clear to him what I will and won't stand for where Barry's concerned." He took another sip of his coffee. "How's Joe?"   
  
Iris flung down her tongs. "Cut the crap, Leonard."  
  
He raised his eyebrows at her.  
  
"You and I both know you don't give a crap how my dad's doing. Cut the bullshit. I know why you're here."  
  
"Enlighten me."   
  
"You're here because Barry's lifted his stupid ban on all this Flash stuff. Now you're allowed to investigate it again without upsetting him, you've come crawling back to me again. Well save it. I worked with you once, I won't make the same mistake again. I can't trust you."    
  
Len wasn't aware that Barry's feelings towards the Flash had changed at all. Interesting. "Ooh, so melodramatic," he said. "Are you going to cut off our friendship bracelet and stop letting me play with your toys?"    
  
Iris thrust his doughnuts at him in a little brown bag. "I trusted you, Leonard. Sure, I screwed up. I'll admit to that. I told Barry about what we were doing, and that was a mistake - but you stabbed me in the back. We were supposed to be a team."    
  
"I don't play nicely with others," Len said, pulling a doughnut out of the bag. "Thought you'd've realised that by now." He looked at her shrewdly. "Barry never told me he'd be cool about the Flash from now on. What changed his mind?"    


"The Flash saved my life," said Iris. "Guess that changed his perspective on things."  
  
Len felt a flutter of irritation. Oh, so the  _ Flash _ saved her life. Sure, the speedster might have done most of the heavy lifting, though Len would kill to know how he'd done it - but he was late. Iris would have been reduced to little more than a well-dressed pancake if Len and Mick hadn't gotten to her first.   


"To tell the truth, I'm a little bored of the Flash," he said. Methodically, he began to shred his doughnut, putting it into his mouth strip by strip.    
  
"Bored?"    
  
"Well, he's a little obvious. All the lightning, the red suit, playing the hero… my interests have wandered a little further afield. Other metahumans." He gave her a level look.   
  
"Something tells me you'd know something about that."    
  
"The Flash is different. He's better. The others... they aren't like him. Tony Woodward was a bully and a creep. Having powers didn't change either of those things."    
  
"But they made him more interesting... and Woodward can't be the only one. There must be more of them out there, if you know where to look."    


Having laid his cards out on the table, Len waited. He didn't have to wait for long.   


"Look," said Iris. "if you're really interested, then fine. I'm due a break. Give me five minutes and then we'll talk."   


Len went to go sit at an empty table, drinking his coffee as slowly as possible. Within a few minutes, Iris came to join him.   


"Alright," she said. "So technically I'm not supposed to be talking about this. I agreed to keep it off the blog. The Flash doesn't want me digging too deeply into this metahuman stuff, in case I piss one of them off and they decide to come after me again. But that isn't going to stop me doing a little bit of investigating under the radar."   


She pulled her phone out of her pocket, spent a few moments tapping at the screen, and then pushed it across the table. A blurry image filled the screen - a fuzzy silhouette consumed by flame. The image was pixelated from being zoomed in on one too many times, but Len had no doubts whatsoever as to what it was supposed to be. He'd come across similar images half a dozen times during his own investigations. His lip curled.   


"Really?" he said. "The Burning Man?"   
  
"Don't look at me like that!"    
  
"You don't seriously believe in this? The Burning Man is like Central City's version of Santa Claus. Completely made up and primarily believed in by small children."    
  
"He exists," Iris said. "There's photographic evidence!"    
  
"Please," Len scoffed. "Give me a couple hours and access to photoshop, and even I could rustle up a photo of the Burning Man. He's a fairy story, some tale that people tell their kids and spread at sleepovers to creep each other out." He lowered his voice dramatically. " _ Rumour has it that if you stand around the back alley of a pizza parlour and whisper 'double pepperoni stuffed crust' eight times, the Burning Man will come and set fire to your _ -"   
  
Iris whacked him on the arm. "Shut up!" But she was struggling not to laugh. "He's real," she insisted.    
  
"Load of horse crap," Len said. "Next."    
  
"You'd think that for a guy who's so keen to learn about metahumans, you'd be less of a cynic."    


Len shrugged.   


Taking back her phone, Iris said, "Fine. There's another one. Just a rumour, no pictures or anything, not much to follow up on. But there have been a whole bunch of reports about sightings of a woman who no one can get a good glimpse of. She's a thief, apparently. Keeps breaking into stores and lifting all kinds of goods - but as soon as someone corners her, she just vanishes. Disappears into thin air."   
  
"So she can turn invisible?"    
  
"That, or she's even faster than the Flash is. No one gets a chance to see her move. One second she's there, the next..." She sat back in her seat. "Poof."    


Now  _ that _ was Len's kind of metahuman. A thief. A smart one, too. Not smart enough, if she'd been spotted at all, but Len couldn't talk; he'd been busted plenty of times in his younger days. Thoughtfully, he wondered whether he would be better off trying to recruit a woman who was already using her powers for thievery, rather than trying to harness the Flash. He'd have to find out more about her powers and their limitations before he could decide.   


Leaning over the table, he said, "This metahuman. Has she ever -"   
  
"Iris?"    
  
They turned. Barry was standing a short distance away, blinking at them. Recovering from his surprise, he headed over, smiling.   


"Hey, Barry!" Iris said. "What's up? You drop by for your daily caffeine fix?"   
  
"You can see right through me. Hey, honey," he said, leaning down to kiss Len lightly on the mouth. Then he dropped into the spare chair at Len’s side. "You guys are talking?"    
  
"Yup," said Iris. "I was just telling Leonard about the Burning Man."    
  
"Really?" Barry laughed delightedly. "You guys believe in the Burning Man?"    
  
"He's real!" Iris said defensively.    
  
"For the record, I told her it was a steaming pile of horse shit," Len said lazily.    


Outraged, Iris shoved him. Len eased back in his seat, further out of reach.   


"Well, that's a little harsh," said Barry. "But..."  
  
"Don't you dare laugh at me for this, Barry Allen, you believed in aliens until we were seventeen!"  
  
"Actually, I still believe in aliens," Barry said, pinching one of Len's doughnuts. "It seems narrow-minded to assume that we're the only sentient beings alive in the universe - but the Burning Man, Iris? Really?"  
  
"Bigfoot!" Iris said accusingly.

Laughing, Barry held his hands up in defeat. “Okay, you got me with that one.” 

“Bigfoot?” Len said. “That’s adorable.”

“It was a strange time in my life,” Barry said cheerfully. “I was young…”

“We were  _ nineteen _ , Barry. Not that young.”

He gave Iris a wounded look. “Don’t embarrass me in front of Leonard! You’re giving away all my secrets.”

“Trust me, Barry, you don’t need any help embarrassing yourself; you handle that perfectly on your own.” She patted him on the hand, then pushed back her chair. “No rest for the wicked. I’ll go grab your latte.”

“Be generous with the milk,” Barry called as she headed back towards the counter.

“Don’t sweat it, Barr, I know what you like,” she called over her shoulder, and with a toss of her hair she ducked back behind the counter and started making his coffee.

“I can’t stay long either,” Barry said regretfully. “I ducked out on my lunch break. There’s a whole heap of uncatalogued evidence back at the lab and it all has my name on it. Captain Singh’s gonna have my ass if I’m not back asap.”

“Well then you’d better hurry on back; that ass is mine, and I don’t share. That includes food.” He plucked what was left of his doughnut out of Barry’s hand. “Get your own.”

Barry hung his head in mock dismay, but his huge grin somewhat ruined the effect. “Sorry. I’m starved.” He leaned in to kiss Len on the cheek. “Gotta run. I’ll see you after work - we still on for date night?”

“You bet. You pick the movie. We’ll grab as much popcorn as either of us can eat - remind me to stop off at the bank on the way there. With the amount of food you’ve been putting away lately, we may need to take out a loan.”

“Oh, shut up,” Barry said fondly, kissing him again. “I’ll see you later. Be good.”

“Aren’t I always?”

Barry wrinkled his nose at Len, then headed over to the counter to collect his coffee from Iris. Len watched their exchange with a strangely pleasant feeling in his stomach. Some kind of warmth. He scoffed at himself; he was getting soft. But it was good to see Barry happy - alive and alert and cheerful, after all those months lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Sometimes he took it for granted, the fact that Barry was finally by his side again. Other times, he found it impossible to forget how come he’d close to losing him. 

Barry took his coffee, downed it in one and then left, with a cheery wave in Len’s direction as he left. Len rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling anyway. 

He allowed himself a brief moment to be sappy before squashing it and returning his attention to the task at hand. His conversation with Iris had given him a lot to think about - and plenty to discuss.

Finishing off what was left of his doughnut, he pulled his phone out and fired off a quick text. Barry didn’t get off work till late, which left plenty of time to talk to Mick about what he’d learned.

~*~

“So let me get this straight,” said Mick. “You want us to go running round the city searching for some invisible chick?”

“In essence,” Len said. 

They were holed up in Mick’s house again. It always smelled a little bit like something was burning, and the scent of cigarettes lingered despite the fact that neither of them smoked - but over the years, Len had gotten used to it. Even Barry had stopped bothering to complain when he came home from Mick’s place reeking like a bonfire. Today, though, the singed smell was a little stronger than usual, and Mick was having some trouble sitting still. Len kept a close eye on him, and the lighter that Mick kept flicking on and off. The steely scrape was getting on Len’s nerves, but he knew better than to say anything.

Mick opened another beer bottle with his teeth, spat the bottle cap across the room, and said grumpily, “And how are we supposed to find someone we can’t fucking see?”

“We use our initiative,” Len said. “Whoever she is, she’s smart. She’s using her powers to line her own pockets - a woman after my own heart. Anarchy has its place, but it gets a little old after a while. I’m not a fan of all these metahumans trying to trash my city.”

“Our city.”

Len waved his hand. “Whatever. Look, she’s not as crazy destructive as the others. She’s just using her gifts for vaguely nefarious purposes and not getting caught. Our kind of woman.”

“You ain’t single, and I ain’t interested,” Mick pointed out. “I don’t do women.”

“You don’t do anyone. That’s not the point. This woman is a metahuman, and she’s a crook, which means that before long she’s going to find her way onto the Flash’s radar. So we keep tabs on her, and we use her as bait to lure him in.”

Alternatively, they could offer her a spot on their team and eliminate the need to recruit the Flash altogether. He’d prefer to know more about her powers and their potential limitations first, but it struck him that an invisible partner could be just as useful as a fast one. More so, even. She could sneak up on people, read security codes or PIN numbers over people’s shoulders without them having a clue.

Still, he’d rather not put all his eggs in one basket. There was something about the Flash in particular that had caught his interest. Len was a great believer in instinct, and his gut was telling him that the Flash was the way to go… if only for the challenge. Sure, it’d be easier to recruit someone who was already a thief, but the struggle to corrupt someone so pious to the cause would make things  _ so  _ much more interesting.

“Or,” he added, “if the Flash doesn’t show and we don’t feel like offering her a place on our team, we could always take her out ourselves.”

“Last time we went after a metahuman we got our asses handed to us.”

“Sure, but last time the metahuman in question was invulnerable. This girl just disappears. Doesn’t matter if we can see her or not; we can still make her bleed.” He already had a few ideas up his sleeve. There were always ways around a problem, you just had to be smart enough to circumvent it. “Besides, we could use the practice. We’ll need it for when we catch the Flash.”

"Who said anything about fighting the Flash? I thought we were gonna make him our bitch."   
  
"All in good time," said Len. "First we have to find out who he is, and the fastest way to do that is to unmask him. But we'd have to catch him first."    
  
"Seems to me like you're making it a lot harder than it needs to be."    


"Oh? Do tell." There was a short pause, in which Len steepled his fingers and fixed Mick with his steeliest look. "Go on, speak your mind. We're all friends here." This, with a slightly dangerous edge to his tone.  
  
"Fine," Mick snapped. "You've got us both chasing round town after dumb small fry metahumans because there's a _chance_ the Flash might show up to take ‘em down. Seems to me like the biggest lead we got is sitting right there in front of us. But for some reason, you're not using it."  
  
"If you're talking about Iris - "  
  
"Course I'm talkin' about Iris," Mick growled. "She's our lead. She's where you're getting all your information anyway. She and the Flash are buddies. She knows how to find him. So we get her to tell us who he is, and quit wasting our time on sheep. We got bigger fish to fry."  
  
"She doesn't know who the Flash is. Oh, she wants to, she'd give her right arm to see who's under that mask, but right now she's in the dark just as much as we are. As for telling us how to find him... I gather he values his privacy. And Iris values this little connection she has with him; she won't give that up."  
  
"So we _make_ her tell us." Mick shot a meaningful look at where his gun rested on the worktop.  
  
"Sure, and then she figures out her best friend's partner is threatening to off her, and we’ll all have a good laugh about it," Len said, viciously sarcastic. "Fun for all the family. If she finds out who I am she'll run straight to Barry."

“Didn’t seem to bother you before, when you had us both running into that school on some dumb rescue mission.”

“I think somehow she might find it in her to forgive me for saving her from a rampaging metahuman. Holding her at gunpoint and grilling her about the Flash, not so much. Back at the school, she didn’t get a good look at us. Costumes on, not much time for chit-chat, we weren’t so easy to recognise. But prolonged exposure? A full-scale interrogation? She’d clock us in ten seconds flat, and then we’d have a whole host of new problems to deal with.” His expression hardened. “We’re not going after Iris. That’s not an option.”

“So we just keep running round the city like idiots,” Mick said.

“Got any better ideas?”

Mick scowled and drank his beer. Triumphantly, Len took another pull on his own. They both knew he was the decision-maker, the one with the plans. Spinning half-baked notions and tenuous ideas into something they could work with. Mick wouldn’t question that, not really. He just did what he was told… often with a whole lot of complaining, but he obeyed nevertheless. 

“We both know you’re an action kind of guy,” Len said. “And I’m the guy who makes the plans. Every good partnership needs a little give and take. Right now, I need you to give. Give me time, and I promise it’ll all pay off in the end.”

“Since when did either of us believe in giving?”

“All I’m saying is, have a little faith,” Len snapped. “When have I ever led you astray?”

“Plenty of times,” Mick said, eyeing the ever-present pinky ring on Len’s finger. “You remember Alexa?”

“Yes, Mick, I remember Alexa. And  _ you  _ remember that I got us out. We might not have got away with any money, but we got away with our lives. What’s more important?”

Mick gave him a sullen look. “All this shit with the Flash is getting in the way of the good stuff. Stealing. Burning. Fun.”

“As soon as we have the speedster where we want him, we’ll have all that and more. A free ride, the perfect get out of jail free card, and no more risk. Our own personal pet meta, right under our thumb. Trust me, Mick. The Flash is the answer to all our problems. This disappearing woman is just one piece of the puzzle.”

“Fine,” Mick said. “But I’m not wasting my time. When you have a job for me to do, fine, I’ll do it. Till then, you’re on your own.”

~*~

It felt weird to be in Iron Heights in an official capacity and not as a visitor. When Barry and Joe first headed through the gates, he’d almost headed towards the visitors entrance purely out of habit. But today he was here for a crime scene, not to visit his dad. And what a crime scene it was. A prison break, complete with shattered cameras and an eerie feeling in the air. Clay Parker, one of the inmates, had simply vanished without a trace. One second there, the next...nothing. None of the other inmates seemed to know anything - if they did, they were keeping tight-lipped - and the guards were just as clueless. All the cameras had been smashed. 

“What’ve you got?” Joe asked him.

Getting up, Barry relayed all of this information, before adding, “But I did find this.” He showed Joe the sample he’d collected off the ground. “Some kind of residue. Leads all the way like a trail of gingerbread crumbs.”

“So what exactly is it?”

“Don’t know yet. I’ll have to run back to the lab and do some tests. You get anything more out of the guards?”

“I did hear something interesting. Apparently they recovered some of the security footage before the cameras cut out - some woman just popped up out of nowhere and went to town with an iron bar. Smashed all the cameras that were anywhere near this side of the building. We’re gonna run facial recognition on the images, see if we can get anything, but she was fast. None of the cameras got a good look at her. She just appeared out of nowhere and…” Joe mimed a smashing motion.

“Out of nowhere…” Barry frowned, and lowered his voice. “You think we’re talking about a metahuman?”

“That’s your area of expertise, not mine.  But if I had to hazard a guess… there’s an awful lot about this that doesn’t add up. No sign of a forced entry or exit, and none of the other inmates know anything. Prison breaks are usually far more organised; this seems like a spur of the moment decision. It was reckless, it was messy… you ever come across a meta who could, I don’t know, walk through walls or something?”

“Walk through walls? No. But Iris was saying something earlier...something about this woman who can disappear. Some kind of invisibility, maybe? Or…” Barry shook his head. “I’d have to look into it. Do you think we can - ?”

Abruptly, he stopped. He’d glanced over Joe’s shoulder, and stood in the doorway, cuffed but beaming, was his father.

“Dad!” Barry rushed over to his side. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d drop by,” Henry said cheerfully, ignoring the fact that there was a guard with a hand clamped firmly down on his shoulder. “How are you doing, slugger?”

He held out his cuffed hands. Without even thinking about it, Barry grasped them - and then got a jolt of shock. It had been years since he’d touched his dad, even fleetingly. Seeing him without having a thick sheet of glass between them was surreal. A huge smile spread across his face, so big that his cheeks hurt. His dad beamed right back at him, radiating happiness from every pore. Barry wanted to hug him, but he wasn’t sure if that would be pushing it - and to be holding hands with his father was more than he could ever have expected.

“I can’t believe it,” Barry said. “Seeing you face to face, I can’t...it’s so great to see you!”

“And you. You still taking care of yourself?”

Barry nodded.

“And Leonard? Things gotten any better between you two?”

“Much,” Barry said. “We talked it out like you said, and… things have improved a lot. He’s taken some time off work so we can be together. We’re planning to have a date night tonight, actually. Things are… good.”

“Good on you, slugger. He’s a keeper. When you find a love like you two have, you’ve gotta hold on tight.” He squeezed Barry’s hands.

“Don’t encourage him,” scolded Joe. “I’ve been trying to get rid of that bastard for months. You’re ruining all my hard work!”

“Aw, Joe, Leonard ain’t so bad. He’s a little prickly, sure, but you have to admit he’d move mountains for my son.”

“Be that as it may,” Joe said disapprovingly, “I don’t like him, I don’t trust him, and I don’t want him near my kids. I don’t know what either of you see in him.”

“He’s a good guy, Joe,” Barry insisted. “He just… does a great job of hiding it.”

“Damn right,” Joe muttered.

Barry decided to change the subject. After all, he and Joe could bicker about Len any time, and he didn’t know how much time he’d have to spend with his father. “I’m almost done here,” he said. “But maybe I can drop by later, dad, if visiting hours aren’t over?” 

“You sure can, if you’re not too busy with everything else that’s going on. It’s quite the mystery you’ve got here,” Henry said, craning his neck to peer into the empty cell. “Rumour has it the guy just vanished.”

“That he did,” said Joe. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the guy who got out?”

“Not much. But I might be able to do a little digging. Keep my ear close to the ground, as it were.”

“Don’t you dare,” Barry said sternly. “Let us handle this. It’s our job. I don’t want you getting in any trouble.”

Henry opened his mouth to reply, but the guard holding him gave a meaningful tug on his shoulder.

“Time to go, Allen.”

Ruefully, Henry slid his hands out of Barry’s grip. “My public awaits,” he said. “I got a delicious lunch waiting for me. Mystery meat with a side of unidentified slop. Still, I reckon the dinner lady has a soft spot for me. Might be able to wheedle something edible out of her if I get there in time.” He smiled at Barry. “I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Dad,” Barry said. He craned his neck as the guard steered Henry back down the corridor, and didn’t stop looking until he’d vanished around the corner and out of sight.

When Barry finally turned around, Joe was stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling.

“Don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?” Barry asked.

“I might’ve. That guard owed me a favour. Figured it might be nice for you to see your dad without all that damn glass in the way.”

“Thank you,” Barry said softly. 

“Any time. Now let’s get out of here. See if you can wrangle anything useful out of those data samples. This is one mystery I’m already itching to solve.”

 

~*~

 

Sometimes Barry didn’t know how he’d ever managed without S.T.A.R Labs. These days it was second nature to take his samples straight to them, without even taking them to the crime lab. Of course, it was strictly against procedure, but the equipment at S.T.A.R Labs was far more sophisticated than anything the CCPD could afford, and he enjoyed the companionship of poring over samples with Cisco, Caitlin and Doctor Wells. Back at the CCPD, he had never really endeared himself to the other CSIs; there was a reason he had his own poky lab, shoved out of the way. He’d always felt kind of like the odd one out in the playground; that one loser kid who wasn’t invited to join in the fun. But at S.T.A.R Labs, he wasn’t excluded. He was a part of something.

“As you can see, Clay Parker’s DNA is also mixed with the DNA of a woman,” Doctor Wells was saying. “Cisco, could you run that through the database?”

Cisco obliged, and within seconds a picture had popped up on the screen. 

“Shawna Baez,” Cisco read. “Quite the party animal, apparently. And I’d party with her any time.” He grinned, then took in their stony expressions and coughed, turning his attention back to the screen. “She’s got herself a criminal record, but it’s nothing major. Petty crime, a list of disorderly conducts a mile long… seems like she likes going to bars. Apparently, she also enjoys trashing them.”

“She’s our disappearing woman,” said Barry. “She has to be. She and Parker are involved somehow…” He shook his head. “I’d better get this information back to the CCPD, run it through some official channels. Captain Singh would skin me alive if he found out I was bringing this to you guys.”

“We’ll keep our lips sealed,” promised Caitlin. She peered through her microscope at the particulate. “Can you spare me some of this? There are a few more tests I can run.”

“Thanks, Caitlin, but you don’t have to do that. I can take it from here. The crime lab isn’t quite as high spec as S.T.A.R Labs, but I’ll manage.”

“Oh no,” she said earnestly. “I’d like to run them. It’ll be fun! It’s not like I have anything better to do.” After this confession, she paused and looked a little embarrassed. She quickly pressed her eye back to the microscope, letting her hair fall over her face. 

Barry frowned. “No offence, Caitlin, but if that’s your idea of fun, you really need to get out more.”

“My social life is perfectly adequate, thank you, Barry,” Caitlin said stiffly.

Cisco snorted. “Okay, grandma.”

She shot him a filthy look. Holding his hands up, Cisco backed up a little.

“Alright, just saying. You don’t exactly do much on your down time, is all.”

“I do plenty of things. I cook, and I eat, and I read… I hang out at the lab with you…”

“The first two of those are essential bodily functions, the third is boring, and the last one is  _ work,  _ which is not the same as having a life. Why don’t you come out with me tonight? Barry, you could join us.”

“No can do,” Barry said, collecting up his samples. “Movie night with Leonard.”

Cisco raised his eyebrows. “Again? At this point you two must be running out of movies.”

“Len’s kind of a streaming guru. Took him all of half an hour to figure out how torrenting worked; now he’s a pro. Any movie we can think of, right at our fingertips, free of charge. Besides,” Barry said cheekily, “who says we’ll actually be watching?”

“Okay, first of all: ew,” Cisco said. “Did not want that mental image. You can pay for my therapy in ten years time when I’m still getting nightmares about you having sex with Leonard.  Secondly, you’re now exempt from this conversation. Get your smug married ass out of this lab before I sue you.”

“Not married, Cisco.”

“It was a  _ Bridget Jones  _ reference, you heathen!” Cisco said crossly. “Now go, go! Before I do something drastic.” He turned to Caitlin. “Please, Cait? It could be fun.”

“Sorry, Cisco,” Caitlin said, gathering her microscope. “Not tonight.”

“Well, fine. Fine! Doctor Wells, you’ll hang out with me, right?”

“If you’d like,” Wells said. “What do you have in mind?”

“Thank you!” Cisco said triumphantly. “At least one of us knows the meaning of friendship. Thank you, Doctor Wells. We will break out the projector and have a movie night that’s ten times better than Barry’s. Also without the sex.”

With a small smile, Doctor Wells said, “Lead the way.”

 

~*~

 

It had been a chaotic few days, Barry reflected as he and Joe pulled up at Iron Heights the next day. Movie night with Len had done wonders at keeping him calm, although Len had seemed strangely jittery that evening. Itchy feet. He claimed it was being off work with nothing to do that was behind it; that made sense, Barry supposed. But what with everything else that was going on in his life, he didn’t have time to dwell on a little weird behaviour from Len.

Caitlin had called him earlier that morning to inform him that she’d examined the samples further, only to find that when Clay Parker’s cells came into contact with Shawna’s, they adopted her properties - meaning she could share her abilities with others. Whatever those abilities might be. That explained how she’d smuggled Parker out of the prison so easily, but it only left Barry with a whole host of other unanswered questions. His least favourite kind.

One question he had, though, was easily answerable: why his father had called Joe and requested for him and Barry to drop down to Iron Heights. He had information, which he passed down through the greasy phone hanging off the cubicle wall.

“Clay Parker was doing some business for a guy named Marcus Stockheimer,” Henry told them. “The guy was bad news. I gather Marcus lost a fair amount of money when Parker wound up in this place. A lot of the guys round here got involved with Marcus one way or another, and they’re all the same; first thing they do when they get out is pay off what they owe him, by any means necessary. He’s not the kind of guy you keep waiting. I’ll bet you anything that Parker’s out there right now, trying to settle his debts.”

“How do you know all this?” Joe asked.

“I did some poking around. Whispered a couple of questions in the right ears.” Henry shrugged. “It’s nice to be able to do something useful for once. Been a long time since I could.”

“What’s that on your face?” Barry interrupted.

“What?” Henry said guiltily, his hand immediately jumping to the discoloration on his cheekbone. “Oh. Tripped. Bashed myself in the shower. Clumsy of me.”

How anyone had ever thought Henry Allen capable of murder, Barry didn’t know. If he’d done it, it would have been written all over his face. He was a horrible liar. Even Barry, who’d been known to blurt out some pretty stupid cover stories under pressure, couldn’t believe how unconvincing he sounded.

“You’re getting yourself into trouble,” he accused.

Dismissively, Henry said, “Alright, so maybe I stuck this big old nose in a few places I shouldn’t have. It’s no big deal. This information any use to you?”

“We’ll follow it up,” Joe promised.

“No more, Dad,” Barry said. “Okay? I’m not having you get attacked for trying to help our investigation. I appreciate the help, but please don’t get involved in this, okay? Those guys could turn nasty in there.”

“You worry too much. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. Promise me. Swear you’ll keep out of it.”

“...I swear,” Henry said eventually.

Barry let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. And thank you for the info. But no more, okay? I mean it.”

“Don’t worry, slugger, I got the message. No more espionage. Just when things were getting interesting,” tutted Henry. The look on Barry’s face made him pause. “...Okay, okay. No more jokes. I’m done, I swear.”

“Good,” Barry said, and managed a smile.

In his heart of hearts, though, he knew full well that Henry didn’t mean a word of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot!! there's plot!! it's a miracle!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alcohol tw! a character gets very drunk in this chapter. if you've seen season one i'm sure the scene will be essentially familiar, but just so you're all aware!
> 
> there is a brief mention of sex in this chapter - doesn't go into much detail, but to avoid, stop reading at "One of Len's favourite things about Barry was that he always made good on his debts" and start again at "Sat in the kitchen drinking his coffee, Len was idly reviewing his plans for the day."

There weren’t many occasions when Len was glad to be dating the adopted son of a cop, but every now and then it had its perks. Namely the fact that Barry was a tremendous gossip. He’d spent half of their movie night chattering away about their latest mystery; a vanishing prisoner with suspected links to a metahuman woman. It had taken all of Len’s self-restraint not to interrogate him, although in fairness Barry didn’t need much encouragement to babble about something once it had caught his interest.

That morning, Len had liberated a few of Barry’s case notes while he was in the shower. Only for long enough to have a flick through, commit some of the more important details to memory and then put it all back before Barry noticed, but that had been more than enough to pick up a name: _Clay Parker._ Len didn’t know the escaped prisoner personally, but a quick pit-stop at Saints and Sinners and a few queries slyly whispered in the right ears, and before long some information had circled back his way. Parker owed Marcus Stockheimer a whole lot of dough. Now that was a name Len _did_ know, and he knew it well enough to know that Parker was dead meat if he didn’t cough up fast.

At that point, he’d made an educated guess. If Len had needed money urgently, there were several options he’d have gone for, but the simplest was intercepting a cash delivery for the bank, and that was exactly what Parker and his concubine had done. The elusive disappearing woman, Len assumed. He was watching from a safe standpoint as a man - Parker - held the two delivery drivers at gunpoint. His girlfriend staggered to and from their getaway car, laden down with sacks full of money. Not very chivalrous, Len thought disapprovingly. If it had been him, he’d have made the drivers carry the loot.

The woman was dragging the last few bags of cash across the lot when all of a sudden a red blur exploded onto the scene, skidding to a stop with gravel flying from his heels like sparks. Len sat up straight and immediately powered up his gun.

The woman crouched, clearly ready to use her powers. For his part, the Flash seemed relatively at ease. Of course, he was used to this stuff.

Then the woman vanished, one moment there and the next out of sight. After glancing wildly around the lot, the speedster shot off in pursuit, yellow lightning crackling in his wake.

Len cursed and threw himself at the stairwell, rushing down as fast as he could go. He’d be damned if he was going to miss out on seeing how the Flash handled himself in a fight. Behind him, he heard the engine roar to life, the squeal of tyres as Parker ditched his girlfriend and got the hell out of there. Gutless schmuck. But then again, a guy like that would be little more than dirt on the Flash’s boots.

Len, however, knew just how to get his attention.

When he caught up to them, he snagged himself a prime viewing spot behind a dumpster and got down on his haunches, gun at the ready. It was exhilarating, seeing the two metas go at it. The Flash rushed at the woman, but every time it seemed like he was going to catch her, she slipped out of his grasp like a bar of soap. He grabbed her arm; she stomped hard on his foot, making him leap back with a yelp, and then she was halfway up the fire escape, hanging over the edge to watch him. The Flash flitted straight up after her, swung a punch and managed to get her in a hold, but then the two of them both vanished, flashing in and out of view at dozens of different points, only for a split second each time until they came back into view and the woman wrenched herself free, and then she vanished and reappeared on the opposite side of the parking lot. The Flash whirled around, and Len dodged behind the dumpster, out of sight.

“Too slow, Flash!” the woman taunted, her voice carrying across the parking lot.

“Why don’t you come over here and say that, Peek-A-Boo?”

She laughed acidly, shook her head. “Oh, I’m not coming anywhere near you.”

_Peek-A-Boo?_ Len thought. Cute.

Then they were at it again, a blur of red and black, the woman never pausing for long enough to let the Flash catch up. She was actually faster than him, Len marvelled. Their movements were all but choreographed, almost a dance as they wove in and out, the Flash whirling around her, the woman slipping through his fingers like smoke. He couldn’t keep his gun fixed on either of them when they were moving so quickly; he focused on gripping it tightly, ready to act.

The Flash lunged, grabbed her from behind and then they both evaporated, reappearing halfway up the fire escape. Then in less than the space of a heartbeat, the metahuman flipped the Flash over her head and straight over the side of the fire escape.

Len hissed in shock. The Flash had snagged the railing with one hand and was dangling off the edge like a bug in a spider’s web. Speed wouldn’t save him now. If he fell, it wouldn’t be fatal, but it would certainly knock the breath out of him.

Len aimed his gun. An easy target.

This was his one chance to figure out exactly how effective his gun was going to be. Best case scenario, it incapacitated the speedster; worst case, it did nothing and he’d have to rely on the shock of the fall to put the Flash out of action for long enough for him to get away. He’d have to hope that when the Flash would be more concerned about the metahuman woman than he was about Len.

The woman peered over the railing, watching the Flash struggle. She looked down at the speedster, cocked her head and blew him a kiss.

Len fired.

It was a beautiful shot; the blast hit the Flash full on, and he yelled and dropped like a stone, falling to the floor with a crack. Gasping, the metahuman lay flat on his back. Stunned, at least.

Len stepped forward, eyes gleaming, gun still aimed - did he dare take another shot? Should he? - and then he looked up and made eye contact with the meta woman, who was staring right at him with her mouth hanging open.

Then she disappeared.

Len had just enough time to swear viciously before someone seized the back of his parka and yanked _._

Blackness closed in. There was a sensation like he was being fed through a mangle, a dizzy rush not unlike pins and needles - and then he was on the very outskirts of the parking lot, reeling with shock.

Ripping away from the woman’s grip, Len whirled around and lashed out with the cold gun; he pointed and shot without even thinking about it. The blast missed his target, who vanished in a blur - and then there was a woman standing directly under his nose, glaring at him.

There wasn’t much of her; she was barely up to his chin, but what she lacked in size she made up for with attitude. “Put the gun down,” she snapped.

Ignoring her, Len pointed it squarely in the centre of her chest. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m trying to help you, asshole,” she snarled, grabbing the front of his coat.

Once again there was that hideous crushing sensation, and then they were a few hundred feet away with the parking lot already in the distance. Len wrenched himself away from her. The woman was revolving around in circles, brow furrowed. In one hand, she held a retro-looking portable telescope, like a pirate. Backing off a little, Len raised the gun again.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving your ass.”

“I don’t need saving,” Len snapped. “I’m in the middle of something.”

She ignored him, scanning the surrounding area at rapid speed. “We need to move. _Now._ ”

“What exactly are we running from?”

She looked at him as though he were incredibly stupid. “The Flash? You just shot him, you really think he’s gonna take that lying down? Don’t,” she said warningly, when Len opened his mouth with a smirk. “Do not joke with me right now.”

“You can teleport.”

“Well spotted, genius,” she snapped. “Now shut up and let me focus.”

“I came here to look for the Flash. I had the situation handled. Had him right where I wanted him - with your help, of course,” he said mockingly. “Why stop now? He’s weak, and you’re clearly more than a match, so why exactly are we running?”

“Haven’t you seen what he does to metahumans? It’s all over the news. The second he sees one, he whisks them away and they’re never heard from again. There are all sorts of rumours. Some people reckon he locks them up in a fancy prison. Other people reckon he burns them up and uses their energy to make him run faster. I heard one imbecile say he eats them.” The woman snorted. “That’s crazy talk. I don’t know what he does with them, but all I know is that when he’s around, you don’t wanna be the next metahuman on his hit list.”

“I’m not a metahuman.”

She glanced at him. “Yeah, well I am. And there’s no way I’m letting that red freak get anywhere near me. You must be crazy if you think you can catch him. Why would you even _want_ to?”

“I have my reasons. Let’s just say I have a business proposition for him.”

“You’re crazy. From where I’m standing, you look like a low-life criminal. The Flash doesn’t think much of those. That fancy gun won’t protect you if he sneaks up on you from behind like I did. I’m out of here.” She held her hand out to him. “You coming?”

For a moment, Len considered. The woman - more like a girl, really, she couldn’t have been more than Barry’s age or maybe even younger - was clearly freaked out, and he had to admit she was making sense. To all the rabble and scum of Central City, and certainly to all the metahumans, the Flash was bad news. Len had only caught a glimpse of him, but that was more than enough to see that the stories were doing him an injustice. The guy wasn’t just fast; he was fucking supersonic. The cold gun might be more than a match for him, but the question was whether Len would be fast enough to fire it again before the guy disarmed him, and right now he wasn’t sure about that.

Besides which, this woman clearly knew more about the Flash than he did. She could be a valuable ally in more ways than one.

Holstering his cold gun, Len held out a gloved hand. The woman seized it, and they teleported.

It was dizzying; they vanished and reappeared in less than an eye-blink, so fast that it made Len’s head spin. Every few seconds he caught a glimpse of familiar surroundings - an alleyway, a gate, a side street that he’d spotted from a distance just a few moments before - and then he was wrenched back into nothingness and they teleported forwards a few hundred feet. Telescope glued to her eye, the woman transported them across the city in flickers, barely enough for Len to catch his breath between each one.

Eventually, they staggered to a stop. Releasing his arm, the woman staggered a few feet away and bent double, gasping for breath. Len put a hand to his head; he was sensing he’d have a killer headache before long. The constant flickering in and out of existence made him feel sick. Past the ringing in his ears, he could hear the distant sound of traffic.

The teleporter woman was still struggling to catch her breath. Apparently travelling that far and that fast had really taken it out of her. If Len had been able to teleport, he’d have transported himself to another country the moment the Flash got on his tail, but they were still in the city and if the speedster had any way of tracking them he could catch up to them in under a minute. That suggested her abilities were limited; short-range only. He guessed that the telescope wasn’t just for aesthetic purposes: she could only teleport to places she could see. Interesting. Len pursed his lips.

“That’s some skill-set you’ve got there. You ever considered a life of crime?”

She laughed at him. “What exactly do you think I was doing back there, hosting a tea party? Why do you think the Flash is on my ass in the first place? Me and my boyfriend, we already got a set-up. Banks, mostly. We got debts to pay. But once we figure out a way to improve my range, we’ll be moving on to the bigger stuff.”

Impressed, Len nodded. He liked this girl. She knew her stuff. After a moment’s thought, he held out a gloved hand. “Leonard Snart.”

She eyed him suspiciously, took a long hard look at the cold gun and then accepted his hand. She had a good handshake - firm. “Shawna Baez.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Shawna Baez,” said Len. “If you and your boyfriend ever fancy getting involved in a bigger operation, look me up. I’m thinking about getting a little team together. We could use someone with your talents.”

“That’s your business proposition?” Baez asked. “That’s what you wanna offer the Flash? A place on your little team? You _shot_ him _._ ”

“In the kind of circles I move in, that could be considered a friendly greeting. Besides, he might as well know that I mean business. I have a weapon that can stop him, and I’m not afraid to use it. If he doesn’t want me to shoot him again, he’ll hear me out.”

“You’re crazy. The Flash is a good guy; he isn’t interested in being a crook. He’ll lock you up before you’re even done getting the words out.”

“Which is why I intend to keep him on a leash,” Len said smoothly. “He’ll be eating out of my hand just as soon as I find a little leverage. I’m doing some investigating.”

“Anyone who wants that red menace off the streets is a friend of mine, but you’d better watch yourself, Snart. Don’t underestimate him. The Flash is dangerous. He’s a traitor to his own kind and he can’t be stopped.”

_We'll see about that,_ thought Len. Nobody was unstoppable. He was already plotting exactly how he’d take out Baez if need be. His first move would be to cover her eyes - maybe blind her, if he had to. A good hard blast in the face from the cold gun would at least dazzle her, if not freeze her eyes shut, and then she’d be powerless. As for the Flash, Len already had a few ideas about how to stop _him_. For starters, he’d break his legs. Speed wouldn’t do him any good if he couldn’t run.

Of course, he didn’t say any of this to Baez. He just smirked at her.

“I’ll see you around,” she said, and she put the telescope to her eye. A deep breath later and she was gone; Len caught sight of her in the distance, flitting from street corner to street corner, and then in a haze of dark smoke she was gone, leaving him to think wistfully that having a girl like that on his side would have been almost as good as having the Flash.

 

~*~

 

Barry lay spread-eagled on the ground, staring up at the clouds. He hadn't moved an inch from where he'd landed after Cold had shot him; hadn't even twitched. Lying still, his body felt like one enormous bruise, throbbing waves of pain coursing through him with every breath. He dreaded to think how much it would hurt if he tried to get up.  
  
It was so unfair. They were ganging up on him now? Baez had him hopelessly outmatched in the first place, and then Captain Cold had intervened. Fuck, it _hurt_ getting shot, although the shock of it was worse than anything, like being dunked in a frigid river. The gun had to account for at least half of the incredible pain he was experiencing right now, since it hadn't been a bad fall, all things considered.

The descent itself was the worst part. His body had instinctively sped up as the speedforce kicked in to try and save him, and so he'd experienced the full fall in slow motion, watching the world slide by slow as molasses as he fell. It was almost beautiful, in a way.

Then he'd slammed into the ground and all he was aware of was just blinding pain, and that horrible cold tingle as the blast from the gun ate away at his chest, leaving a glittering patch of ice on the front of the Flash suit.

This was a worrying development, Barry concluded. Up until now, he'd had little clue as to what Cold wanted from him. His motivations were a mystery; he'd killed a few people seemingly at random, shown up to save Iris at the school, and now he was ganging up with other metahumans to take Barry down?

One thing was certain: whatever Cold wanted, it wasn't good. And Barry had a nasty suspicion that he hadn't even scratched the surface of what that gun of his was capable of. Not that the blast hadn't hurt, but it hadn't done anywhere near as much damage as he expected; if it hadn't been for the fall, he could have fought past the pain. Cisco Ramon didn't make mistakes with his tech, which meant that the blast Barry had just received was little more than a taster of what was to come. A highly unpleasant thought.  
  
Groaning quietly, he flexed his fingers and toes. Painful, but possible. Nothing broken, as best as he could tell. It hadn't been such a big drop, after all. Gritting his teeth, he clawed himself to a sitting position.  
  
Now _that_ hurt. Hissing, Barry felt his entire body seize up in protest. The urge to give up and lie down again was unreal, but he managed to stand. Then he took a deep breath and looked around.  
  
Cold and Baez were long gone, of course. So was Clay Parker, who'd scarpered as soon as Barry arrived on the scene. The two truck drivers he'd held at gunpoint were still tied up a few metres away from their van. Wearily, Barry got up to go and free them.

As he picked at the knots with stiff fingers, he thought about Cold. Why shoot him and then run? Had it been a test of some kind?

And if it had, had he passed or failed?

No use worrying about it now, Barry thought resignedly. But he couldn't stop the clenching in his stomach when he recalled that split second of blinding pain, and the fact that he had no idea how he was supposed to stop it from happening again.

Cold had made his first move. Barry, however, didn't even know where to begin.

 

~*~

 

“Hey, Barr,” Cisco greeted him as he stomped into the cortex. “How’d it go out there? How are you holding up?”

“Badly,” Barry said grumpily. “And I’m sore. Mad. Humiliated.” He scowled. “ _Hungry._ ”

“I can fix that. The last part, anyway.”

Cisco opened up one of the desk drawers, pulled out a protein bar and lobbed it at him. Catching it neatly in mid-air, Barry ripped the packaging open and ate it in two swallows. His stomach grumbled appreciatively.

“Better?”

“Kinda,” Barry said. “You got any more of those?”

Producing several more bars, Cisco tossed them across the room one by one, but he kept one back and bit off a chunk. “You didn’t get her?” he asked, spraying crumbs.

Barry scowled. “I nearly had her, but she wasn’t alone. We finally found our Captain Cold.”

Cisco promptly choked on his piece of protein bar; Barry zipped across the room to whack him between the shoulder blades until the chunk was dislodged.

“What?” Cisco demanded when his airways were clear.

“I was after Baez when someone started shooting at me. The blasts were just like you described the ones from the cold gun, and there was this crazy temperature drop. Whoever Cold is, I don’t think he nabbed this gun out of chance. I think he’s after me specifically. Either Baez got in the way and he attacked her, or the two of them decided to team up, but they both got away from me. Before I could pick either one of them to focus on, they were both gone.”

“Baez doesn’t strike me as a team player,” Cisco said thoughtfully. “Aside from her boyfriend she seems to be a fan of looking out for number one.”

“And Captain Cold?”

“...Hard to say. There’s evidence to suggest he has a partner of some kind - someone has the other gun, after all. Whoever he gave it to seems to be a friend of his; that’s one reason why the signature of the gun has been so hard to pick up on. Whenever he uses the cold gun, his buddy uses the other one at the same time. The heat signatures cancel each other out. At least they’ve had the sense not to cross streams.” Cisco shook his head. “Tried that one out during testing. Let’s say it didn’t end well.”

“What happened?” Barry asked curiously.

A quite frankly evil grin spread across Cisco’s face. “Boom.”

“Great,” said Barry. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

“Aw, relax. I’m already working on a strategy to take out Baez. From what we’ve been able to figure out, it looks like she can’t teleport if she can’t see where she’s going - that means containment will be easy. Catching her, not so much, but if you can get her in a dark place and take out all the lights, then you’re golden.”

“And Cold?”

“...Okay, I’m still working on that one. But I will figure something out, Barry, I promise.”

“I know,” Barry said. “I trust you.”

There was still something bothering him, though. He’d only caught a glimpse of Cold, from a distance. The man had been standing in shadow behind a dumpster, and Barry had barely had chance to register the outline of his silhouette before he’d been rather too busy falling to focus on anything else. There was no way he could have recognised him from such a distance, especially not when he was dangling from a fire escape and getting shot at. But there was something about the guy that was familiar. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

~*~

 

Barry spent a couple more hours hanging out at the lab, but even he had to admit it was futile. They had no leads on Baez, not that he was keen to face her again anyway - and with nothing more solid on Captain Cold aside from a uselessly vague description, even Barry couldn't justify bringing him up again. "Goggles and a big coat" wasn't much to go on, and he was starting to irritate everyone by dwelling on it. It seemed only fair to him. Cold kept showing up wherever he was; at this point it couldn't be chance. He was stalking him. And if Cold was obsessed with Barry, it seemed only fair to obsess over him in return.

For the past couple of hours he'd been doing paperwork, only pausing to bounce ideas about Baez off Cisco and Caitlin. But eventually Barry groaned, stretched and gave it all up as a bad job. He started packing his stuff away, sweeping it all into his briefcase.

Startled, Caitlin glanced up from the samples she'd been poring over. "Oh, you're leaving already?"

"It's late," Barry said apologetically. "It's past seven. And Len and I have a date tonight, so..."

"Another one?"

Barry shrugged. "We're making the most of his time off. Besides, with all the crazy stuff that's been happening lately I guess it's just really hit home how important it is to spend time with the people I care about. No one lives forever, you know?"

Caitlin flinched almost imperceptibly. Barry felt a sudden and immediate urge to start banging his head against the desk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean - that was insensitive."

"No," Caitlin said bravely. "It's fine. Just because Ronnie's gone doesn't mean I expect everyone else to be miserable. He'd hate that." She smiled. "You guys go have fun."

"What about you? Got any plans for tonight?"

"Me? Oh." Caitlin hesitated. "I'll probably just have a quiet evening. Watch Netflix, or I’ve got a couple of books to read. I'll find something to do."

It sounded horribly lonely. Barry was no stranger to evenings like those; back in college he'd spent most of his evenings by himself. Studying, or messaging Iris, he’d make it to the occasional party and fumble awkwardly through a few drinks before realising nobody really wanted him there. Sometimes it was nice to enjoy your own company, but Caitlin didn't seem particularly enthused by the prospect.

An idea occurred to Barry then. Len wouldn't like it much, but he'd just have to suck it up. Caitlin was just as important. She was his friend.

"You should join us," he said impulsively. "Tonight, I mean. It'll be fun."  
  
"You want me to come along on your date?"  
  
"Yeah! I mean, not exactly. We don't have any leads on Baez, but we know she's kind of a party animal. I was gonna check out some of the local bars, see if she shows. That way I can spend some time with Leonard _and_ work on the case. Kill two birds with one stone, and all that. Only, if she does show up, I could use a little help. Someone's gonna have to distract Len for me while I rush off to get my Flash stuff and deal with her. That could be you."  
  
Barry was sure she would say no. He was already bracing himself for the refusal; his friends made no secret of the fact that Leonard unnerved them.  
  
"Okay,” said Caitlin.  
  
Barry blinked. "Really?"  
  
"Sure. Why not? Sounds like it could be fun. You, me… Leonard. Just promise you won't start making out in front of me or anything, because that's gonna make things really uncomfortable."  
  
"Len's not really one for PDA - unless he gets jealous. ...Admittedly, he gets jealous a lot. But don’t worry. As long as you don’t start hitting on me, we won’t have a problem.” Barry beamed. “So you’re really coming?”

“Yeah,” Caitlin said. “I’ll be there.”

“Great!” Barry shouldered his forensics case. “I gotta go home and get ready, but I’ll text you with a time and place in a couple of hours?”

“I’ll see you there,” Caitlin said, smiling. 

Barry beamed back at her and then sped out of the lab. Now he just had to break the news to Leonard.

 

~*~

 

They had a fairly quick dinner that evening, more of a snack than anything. Then they started getting ready to go out. After a quick Google search, Barry selected the most pleasant-looking south-side bar he could find - he didn’t _actually_ intend to bump into Baez that evening, in spite of what he’d told Caitlin - and then braced himself to tell Len about the slight change of plan. Luckily, Len seemed to be in a fairly mellow mood. Barry even did the washing up to keep him sweet.

They were putting on their jackets when Barry realised that he was kind of running out of time: he had to broach the subject _now_.

“Okay, so I have a question? About date night?” He paused. “Actually, it’s not so much a question as… an apology?”

“Never was a fan of those,” Len said. “Alright, shoot. What’d you do this time?”

“I didn’t - ” Cutting himself off, Barry said, “Okay, so Caitlin’s been kind of down in the dumps lately. Ever since Ronnie died, she’s like a little robot that comes to the lab, does her job, works until she drops and then goes home and… that’s it. When I mentioned we were spending some time together, she got this real kicked puppy look on her face, and I felt really bad, so I… kind of invited her to date night?”

Len paused halfway through putting on his boots. “You invited Caitlin Snow. And that stick she keeps in her ass. To tag along on our date?”

Barry rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t make eye contact.

“And that’s supposed to make her feel like _less_ of a loser?”

“Why would that make her feel like a loser? I asked her to come out with us. I thought it’d be fun.”

“You invited her to be the third wheel on someone else’s date. I’m sure that won’t make her feel at all like the poster-girl for sad singles.”

“You’re so negative,” Barry scolded. “Anyway, she said yes! Clearly she doesn’t feel the same way about this as you do.”

“That just proves it,” Len said. “She’s a lost cause. If you’re so determined to invite her, then be my guest, just don’t expect me to get excited about it.” He laced up his boot. “So where is it that we’re going with Doctor Snow, do tell? Is it a science convention? Chess club? Ooh, maybe we’re going out for a little tea party in the shopping centre where she buys all her frumpy old-lady clothes, that’d _really_ shake things up.”

“Don’t be a dick, Leonard. We’re going to this new bar on the south side. Thought we’d check it out. Technically it has some relevance to the Shawna Baez case, but if I’m being honest, I just wanted an excuse to drag Caitlin out of her apartment. She’s starting to turn into a hermit.”

“Fine,” Len said. “I’m sure some hard liquor will soften the blow of having to spend an entire evening hanging out with Snow - but be warned, if either of you start up some science babble and cut me out of the conversation, I’m going to leave you to pick up the tab.”

“Yes sir,” Barry said, rolling his eyes. “Look, don’t worry about it. No one’s going to talk about science tonight. We’re just going to go out for a few drinks, like normal people. It’ll be fun!”

 

~*~

 

_Fun,_ Len thought as he returned to their table with several drinks. Not exactly his definition of it. But he had to admit, Snow had given him a pleasant surprise by turning up at the bar dressed vaguely like a hooker. A high-class, expensive hooker, but _damn_. Legs up to her armpits, a glittery black dress and she’d actually done something interesting with her hair. Len wouldn’t look at Snow twice in her usual preppy professor gear, but like this? She was turning heads. Good for her.

As soon as he’d placed the drinks on the table, Snow snatched her glass and downed it in two short swallows. Len stared at her, reluctantly impressed. Snow could put it _away._ Barry seemed similarly awestruck as he accepted his own drink - just lemonade, the boring little bastard, but that was his prerogative.

“Maybe we should take things easy, Caitlin,” Barry said. “The night’s still young.”

“And so am I,” Caitlin said, beaming. “I spent most of my teenage years studying and my college years studying even more. Now I’m in my twenties, I’m single, I have no obligations - and I’m here to have a good time. I need another drink. We should start a tab!” She looked unreasonably excited about this idea. “I’ve never started a tab before! How does it work, do you know?”

“I do,” Len said. “I’ll get you another drink, Snow. Or maybe I should just ask them for the bottle?”

“Len,” Barry said disapprovingly.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Caitlin said. “Saves time.”

She didn’t even seem to be joking. In a way, this was unsurprising; Len couldn’t imagine Snow cracking a joke.

“We’re not asking for a bottle,” Barry said. “ _I_ will go get more drinks. And a jug of water. You two behave yourselves, okay?” This with a pointed look at Leonard. Then he ambled back off to the bar.

This left Leonard alone at a table with Snow. Aside from a few jibes exchanged over Barry’s hospital bed, and that one time the two of them had gone looking for Barry at Cisco’s place, Len and Caitlin had never really been alone together before. He would have been quite happy to sit in silence until Barry got back, but Snow was gazing amicably about with a confused but cheerful look on her face, like a bewildered doe, and it was making Len feel a little cruel. For Barry, he could make an effort.

“Never had you for a big drinker,” he said, nodding at Caitlin’s empty glass.

“Oh, I’m not,” she said. “But now seems like a great time to start! It was Ronnie’s birthday last week,” she added, with a wobbly smile. “I guess it’s kind of thrown me off a little bit. But there’s no use in getting all upset over it! Can I have some of your drink?”

“Knock yourself out,” Len told her, pushing his untouched beer across the table. “Ronnie was your fiance,” he added. It wasn’t a question.

“He died,” Caitlin said unnecessarily. “And now I’m alone. But it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I like this, what is it?”

That vodka had hit her fast, Len realised. And now she was guzzling his beer like her life depended on it. He abruptly regretted handing it over; before long he was going to have 120 pounds of blind drunk scientist on his hands, and Barry was still at the bar. God, he should have invited Eddie. Thawne seemed like the type who wouldn’t be fazed by this kind of conversation.

“I haven’t actually been on a night out since the particle accelerator explosion,” Caitlin said, blinking violently. Len had the horrible suspicion that she might start crying. “This is great, isn’t it? I’m having a great time.”

Just as Len was about to cut his losses and run, Barry returned, somehow balancing three new drinks and an enormous water jug in his arms.

“Hey, guys. Sorry it took so long; the bartender is kind of an asshole. Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” Len said, flashing Barry a furious look which hopefully conveyed ‘do not leave me alone with her ever again’. “We’re having a whale of a time. Right, Snow?”

“Absolutely,” Caitlin said, and downed her second drink. “This is great. I’m so glad we decided to come out tonight, guys! This definitely beats Netflix and running around the city, right, Barry?”

“Running?” Len said, perplexed.

There was a startled pause in which both Barry and Caitlin did their best impressions of deer in the headlights.

“I… have taken up jogging,” Caitlin said. “I’m bad at it. I failed gym repeatedly in high school. But practice makes perfect, right?” She shot Barry a sideways glance, and he smiled reassuringly back at her.

“ _Oh_ ,” Len said. “Now that makes sense. For a second I thought you were talking about Barry. The only place he runs to these days is the fridge.”

Barry and Caitlin immediately burst into the most awkward forced laughter Len had ever heard. He raised his eyebrows at them.

“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten how to act around normal people,” Caitlin said immediately. “Social situations were never my forte.”

“What’s your excuse?” Len asked Barry.

“Uh,” Barry said. “Stress.”

“Stress,” said Len.

“Yeah! I mean, work is crazy right now, what with this metahuman running around the city… or rather, teleporting. You and Iris were just talking about her the other day, and then she shows up and starts robbing banks.” He shook his head.

This struck Len as a safe topic, and they talked about metahumans for a while, although every now and then Barry and Caitlin exchanged looks over the table that confused him. Before long, Caitlin’s drinking had escalated to such a level that she was just squinting confusedly across the table every time anyone spoke, regardless of the context, and swaying a little in her seat. Barry and Len hurriedly went back to the bar for more water.

“She’s drunk as a skunk,” Len muttered.

“She’s just got a little carried away,” Barry said defensively. “She doesn’t often let loose.”

“There’s loose, and then there’s _that,_ ” Len said, picking up the jug whilst Barry carried the glasses. They reached their table and paused. “Where’d she go?” Caitlin’s purse and all of her empty glasses were still clustered on the tabletop, but Snow herself was nowhere to be seen.

Len wasn’t in the habit of worrying overmuch, particularly not about Barry’s friends, but Snow was ambling around a south side bar in an incredibly hot dress, evidently not in full control of her faculties. He felt a touch of anxiety start gnawing at his stomach. If Snow got herself attacked because he and Barry had ditched her for five seconds, he’d feel guilty for a week. Len was a crook, but some crimes he wouldn’t tolerate.

Clenching his fists, he glanced around the room - maybe he could find a bartender to check if she was in the restroom - and then the whine of a microphone made them both jump. Someone tapped clumsily on the mic, and then a loud, oddly pitched voice cried, “Barry Allen! Come on down!”

Snow was onstage, wobbling slightly as she pointed her microphone in their direction. Barry froze, appalled. Len sank down into his seat and valiantly struggled not to laugh.

“Barry! Hey!” Caitlin waved excitedly at him.

“Oh, God,” muttered Barry.

“Go on,” said Len, grinning wickedly. “Your audience awaits.”

“I am _not_ going up there.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Barry. You can sing fine. Snow, on the other hand… if she’s sober enough to read the words off the teleprompter, I for one will be astonished.” Len patted him on the back. “Go get her.”

Barry was still floundering, looking desperately for an escape route - but Caitlin had started chanting “BARRY! BARRY!” with the raucous delight of a raging drunk, and before long the entire bar had picked up the chant. Len joined in with great enjoyment, thinking privately that Barry would never invite Snow to gatecrash one of their dates again. Head hanging, Barry shuffled up to join his friend onstage.

“He’s so fast! Look at him go!” Caitlin said shrilly, staggering about behind the microphone. “Oh - oops! Shhh!” She giggled, punching Barry on the arm.

Looking like death would be preferable to his current ordeal, Barry gave Len one last piteous look before the music started, and Snow started cheerfully murdering ‘ _Summer Lovin’_ from Grease. She wavered painfully from note to note, hitting none of them, and clearly having the time of her life. Then it was Barry’s verse, and he put her to shame, as Len had known he would. After living with Barry for so long, he knew full well that the kid had a good set of pipes on him. Caitlin’s atrocious singing couldn’t possibly have sounded worse in comparison.

They left the stage to tumultuous applause, Caitlin tottering off to the bathroom in her heels as Barry returned to Len’s side, shoulders hunched. Len laughed at him for a solid minute before Barry eventually got sick of it and kicked him under the table.

“That was fantastic,” Len said. “A gold star performance, really. Truly masterful.”

“Caitlin is going to kill me in the morning.”

“It could have been worse,” Len said. “At least she didn’t dance. I’m fairly confident she would have broken an ankle.”

“Don’t give her ideas,” Barry said darkly as Caitlin returned to their table, grabbing the back of her chair to steady herself.

“I… need to go throw up,” she said unsteadily.

“Oh, joy,” Len said. “Come on, Snow. Let’s get you outside. If you’re going to puke, you can do it on the street.”

As soon as they were outside Caitlin started retching spectacularly into the gutter. Len held back her hair whilst Barry gagged in the background. Barry _owed_ him for this. He was going to demand many blowjobs… not something he wanted to focus on whilst trying to help Snow aim the stream of vomit away from her shoes, but something he would be making very clear later.

Eventually Snow stopped puking, straightened up and said, “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“Spectacular idea,” Len said. “I’ll call a taxi.”

“We can’t call a taxi,” Barry hissed. “What if she pukes in it?”

“After all that, I sincerely doubt she has anything left to puke,” Len said, and he waved over a taxi cab.

It took some persuading for the driver to allow the dishevelled Caitlin into his car, but Len offered him a lot of money and a few thinly veiled threats, and eventually the man consented to very slowly drive them back to Snow’s apartment.

The fun didn’t end there, sadly, because they still had to get her inside and up to her room. The stairs were a challenge in themselves; it took Barry pulling on her arms and Len shoving her from behind to get her up; it was like trying to lead a cow up an escalator. Unwieldy and still blind drunk, Caitlin was no help whatsoever, but they eventually got her upstairs and into her apartment, at which point she started cheerfully stripping off right there in the living room. Alarmed, Barry spun around and covered his eyes, whilst Snow babbled away, all tangled up in her dress.

“Can you help me?” she asked pathetically, struggling to free her arms.

“I - uh,” Barry said helplessly.

Len rolled his eyes. “Get over here, Snow. Barry, grab her some pyjamas and a whole lot of water.”

He stripped her off methodically, keeping his eyes averted from her body wherever possible. The zipper on her dress got stuck, but with some careful tugging Len got it down, got her shoes off, and dressed her in the ugliest and most oversized pyjamas he’d ever seen, whilst Caitlin stood around mumbling to herself. He left her underwear on under the pyjamas, though; nothing could possess him to touch Snow’s bra. Drunk or not, she’d probably rip his hand off.

Eventually, with her clothes lying in a heap on the floor and her pyjamas on, Caitlin attempted to toddle off to bed. Len grabbed her and firmly steered her into the bathroom to remove her make-up. Barry watched from the doorway in bewilderment, until Len finally declared her ready for bed and they both went to tuck her in. It was kind of like taking care of a large, bewildered child, which only cemented his certainty that he didn’t want kids, _ever._

Creeping out of her room, Barry closed the door and said, “Hopefully she’ll sleep it off. All that puking should’ve got a lot of it out of her system. You were really good with her, how’d you know how to do all that stuff?”

“Lisa liked to play dress-up as a kid. If I could handle all the fiddly fastenings on Barbie clothes, I can handle a grown woman stuck in a dress.” Len sighed. “Well, incredibly amusing karaoke altercations aside, that wasn’t exactly the evening I had in mind. You owe me one, Scarlet.”

“I know,” Barry said wearily. “Thank you. I know tonight really wasn’t what we expected it to be… but we made it work, right? Next time we’ll keep date night just between us, I promise.”

“Well, at least I can’t accuse you of boring me. Come on, let’s get home. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had more than enough excitement for one night.”

 

~*~

 

One of Len’s favourite things about Barry was that he always made good on his debts. The very next morning, in fact, Barry woke him with a surprisingly energetic blowjob, jolting Len very pleasantly into awareness with Barry’s mouth already on him, taking him in deep.

He started as he meant to go on; in bed with Barry’s nose pressed against his stomach, the head of his cock nudging the back of Barry’s throat, and an immensely satisfying orgasm that culminated in Barry getting himself off whilst Len watched, lazy and sated and feeling very pleased with himself.

Yes, he reflected. A perfect morning.

He’d left Barry in bed to doze whilst Len brewed his morning cup of coffee and, in an unusual show of goodwill, made Barry breakfast. (It really had been an excellent blowjob.)

Sat at the kitchen table drinking his coffee, Len was idly reviewing his plans for the day - Shawna Baez had turned out to be a dead end, and he didn’t fancy following her any further in case the Flash decided to go for easier pickings and chase after a crook who’d be considerably easier to catch. This had left him at somewhat of a loose end. Maybe he’d go rob a couple of ATMs, just to kill some time whilst Barry was at work.

Just as this thought occurred to him, the phone started ringing. Len frowned; it was early, too early for marketing calls.

“I’ll get it,” he called.

Len made his way through to the living room and picked up the phone. A smooth, pre-recorded robotic voice announced, “ _You are receiving a call from Iron Heights State Penitentiary. If you would like to answer this call, please press one. To deny, press two._ ”

Len hit the number one, frowning even harder. It was definitely too early for prisoners to be making personal calls. There was an unpleasant weighty sensation growing in his stomach.

“Hello, can I speak to Mr. Barry Allen?”

That wasn’t Henry’s voice. The heavy feeling in Len’s stomach increased.

“He’s not available right now. Can I take a message?”

“Are you a relative?”

“Partner,” Len said curtly. “What’s this about?”

“It’s really best if I speak directly to Mr - ”

“I’m his husband,” Len said. “Next of kin. The whole deal. You can speak directly to me.” A brazen lie, of course, but hell - Barry had done the same thing when Len was in the hospital.

“My apologies, Mr. Allen,” the voice said.

Len gripped the plastic; that was fucking weird, hearing someone call him ‘Allen’ - he’d had plenty of fake names in his time, not one of them had ever sounded as jarring as that one.

“You might want to sit down. This news might come as a bit of a shock - ”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just say it,” he snapped.

A pause. “Mr. Allen, it’s about your father in law, Henry. He’s been stabbed.”


	27. Chapter 27

In a hospital bed, attached to half a dozen different tubes and wires, Henry was almost as white as the sheets he was lying on. He seemed to have aged a decade, fresh lines creasing his forehead. Every time he moved, he winced. To put it bluntly, he looked fucking awful.

Barry looked worse.

Len was genuinely concerned about him. Barry sat rigidly in the hard plastic chair, hunched right over with his fists clenched so tightly in his lap that his knuckles turned white. He alternated between staring at the ground, unblinking, and then turning that same intensity on his father’s face. Apparently just as uncomfortable with Barry’s behaviour as Len was, Henry was trying to avoid his gaze.

Joe stood at Barry’s back, standing guard over him. Len still found it strange, Barry’s real father and his adopted one both in the same room, but the two men seemed to be taking it in stride.

“I can’t believe you did something so risky,” Barry said bitterly. “I asked you not to do any more poking around! I told you it was dangerous, and look what happened.”

“The intel Henry gave us was incredibly helpful to our investigation,” Joe said. “We almost caught Baez and Parker; Stockheimer got away, but we took four of his guys into custody _and_ recovered a significant amount of money, and all thanks to your dad.”

“Yeah, well I’d probably feel a lot better about that if he hadn’t wound up getting _stabbed,_ ” Barry snapped.

Joe pressed his lips together and said nothing. Henry had another brave attempt at a smile, so weary and watery that it turned Len’s stomach.

“Well, I’ve been lookin’ for a change of scenery for a while,” he joked. “I couldn’t persuade any of the guys to switch cells, so I figured a hospital ward was the next best thing.”

“That’s not funny!” Barry exploded. “You could’ve died, Dad! You could’ve - ” Leaping up, he kicked the plastic chair, sending it skidding across the floor. Barry spun around and grabbed two handfuls of his hair; Len put out a wary hand to stop him, but Barry merely stood on the spot, shoulders heaving, visibly fighting to hold himself back. Swallowing, he looked back at his father. “I already lost mom. I can’t lose you too.”

Of all the things Barry could have said, Len suspected he’d hit the nail right on the head; nothing could have hit Henry harder. The man flinched like Barry had actually struck him. When he turned away, it was with evident shame written across his face.

“I learned my lesson, slugger,” Henry said quietly. “No more questions. Don’t think I’m likely to forget it any time soon.” He glanced meaningfully down at himself, stab wound hidden beneath the sheets and numerous layers of gauze.

“Who was it?” Barry asked, in a dangerously calm voice. “Who hurt you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Dad, please. I have to know.”

“How’s that gonna help you sleep at night? Knowing the name of the guy who did it won’t change the fact that I’ll still be in there with him. You don’t need to know, Barry.”

“I do,” Barry insisted. “If someone knew the name of the guy who killed mom, wouldn’t you want to know? Wouldn’t you need someone to tell you?”

“That’s an entirely different situation,” said Henry. “But at the end of the day...unless they caught him, I don’t think I _would_ wanna know. What good would it do? Knowing who did this won’t turn back the clock.”

“You have to tell me. I need you to give me a name, dad, I have to - ”

“ _Barry,_ ” Henry said. “What’s done is done. I need you to let go of this for me, okay? I haven’t asked many favours of you over the years, but right now I’m asking you, as your father, to let this go.”

“Right,” Barry said savagely. “The same way that I asked you, as your son, to keep out of this business with Stockheimer? Because I knew you were going to get hurt? You wouldn’t do that one thing for me when I asked, Dad. Give me one good reason why I should do it for you.”

Henry hesitated.

“That’s what I thought,” Barry said, and he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Joe was already moving before the slam had finished echoing down the hallway. “I’ll talk to him,” he said tiredly. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

As soon as they were alone in the room, Henry let himself lapse back onto the pillows with a groan. He gave Len a wry smile. “Some advice for you, Leonard; never get yourself stabbed. It’s not worth the hassle.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Len, who’d been stabbed more times than he could count. “You know, Barry’s right. Blabbing trade secrets to cops ain’t the greatest way to make friends in prison. I’m starting to see where Barry gets his stupidity from.”

“Ever the charmer, Leonard,” Henry said, with a genuine, if small grin. “Shouldn’t you be trying to butter me up? I might wind up as your father in law some day.”

“Trust me, compared to the way I treat Joe, right now I’m on my best behaviour.” Len followed Henry’s gaze, which was trained wistfully on the door. “He’ll get over it, when he’s calmed down a little. Barry’s temper might be bad, but it never lasts for long.”

“I remember,” Henry said, smiling. “He was a stroppy kid, but it always blew over pretty fast. ...You still taking care of him?”

“Always do.”

“I understand the two of you were having some trouble?”

Len thought back to their argument the other day. Sitting with their backs up against their front door, talking it out, until all of their pent up frustration and anger had cooled away to nothing.

“We were,” he said. “We moved past it. Took a little yelling, a few slammed doors… but we figured things out in the end. We always do.”

“You’re good for him, you know,” Henry said. “Once upon a time I thought...him and Iris…” He shrugged. “Obviously his lack of interest in women put a stop to that. But I always worried he’d never find another anchor. Barry needs someone to ground him, you know? To stop him drifting off course. Looks like he found that with you.”

Len snorted. “He’d better watch it if he’s relying on me to keep him in place. I’m not known for being particularly stable.”

“You stuck around throughout his coma. You’re still at his side now. Seems like you’re pretty stable to me.”

“Hmm,” Len said.

Well, he wouldn’t dispute it, but in his opinion he was about as stable as a see-saw. Time to change the subject.

Taking the chair Barry had vacated, he drew closer to Henry’s bed. “You trust me to take care of Barry. You know I have his back. And you know I wouldn’t let the little bastard do anything stupid… well. _Too_ stupid.” He steepled his fingers. “If you were to tell us the name of the man who did this to you… I can assure you I’d make sure Barry didn’t do anything dangerous with that information. I just think it’d give him a little peace of mind.”

“I don’t see what good it’d do. It’s not like he knows the guy.”

“Whatever helps him sleep at night. If Barry feels it’d give him some closure to know the bastard’s name… don’t see what harm it could do.”

Henry closed his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t see how it could make a difference, but if he’s really that desperate to know...it was one of Stockheimer’s guys. Put away months back, still owes him money, and a whole bunch of favours. Guy named Julius.”

“Thank you,” Len said. “I think it’ll mean a lot to Barry that you told me.” He got to his feet. “I’m gonna make a move. Visiting hours are almost over. But if I see Barry on the way, I’ll send him back in to say goodbye.”

“Thanks, Leonard. I’ll see you around.”

Len nodded, and withdrew.

Barry had stormed down the hallway towards main reception when he left the room, and Joe had followed in his wake. Len went in the opposite direction, leaving through the fire doors at the end of the hall and making a beeline for the grotty payphones in the parking lot. He fed a quarter into the machine and waited for the call to connect, tapping his pinky ring against the side of the machine as he waited.

As usual, Mick picked up the phone and said nothing. Len didn’t wait for him. “I need a favour.”

“I’m not doing any more rescue missions,” Mick said immediately. “No profit. No fun. Boring.”

“No rescue mission,” Len said. “I need a gun.”

“Something wrong with the one you got?”

“It’s too distinctive,” Len said. “I’m after something a little more traditional.”

“Might have something lying around. What’s this about?”

“I’m going to pay a little visit to Iron Heights,” Len said. “I have a pressing appointment with a guy named Julius.”

 

~*~

 

Barry was seething. He’d wasted his whole day, every single one of his friends conspiring against him to keep him from doing ‘something stupid’. As far as Barry was concerned, the only stupid course of action was precisely what he’d been forced to do: nothing. His dad had given him the name of his attacker, and Joe had taken it as a personal challenge to follow Barry everywhere and lecture him excessively about being the better man. When Joe wasn’t chasing him, Cisco and Caitlin were on his tail. Even Captain Singh seemed to be in on it, making loud threats that Barry’s job might be in jeopardy if he didn’t sit his ass down in the lab and start testing the samples from Iron Heights - which was doubly infuriating, since he knew exactly what the deal was with them, and also knew that he couldn’t put any of it in his report. He’d been thinking wistfully of the punchbag in the CCPD’s basement all day - in his mind, he’d renamed it ‘Julius’. Barry was sorely tempted to do a little historical reenactment. Caesar’s death would pale in comparison to what this guy had coming to him.

The only person who wasn’t tailing Barry around was Leonard, who had abruptly vanished from the hospital without so much as a goodbye and was currently missing in action. Probably freaked out and bailed to get away from all the emotions that had been let loose in the room. Touchy-feely stuff wasn’t Len’s forte, particularly when it involved a third party. It was just as well, really. Barry was in a foul mood, lashing out at anyone who came near.

He had thought at first that Joe was going to follow him all the way home, but surprisingly he seemed to trust Len to keep Barry under wraps. Too bad that Len wasn’t around, and there was nothing between Barry and Iron Heights except a couple of miles and his own conscience. The latter wasn’t feeling particularly lively that evening.

The sun was setting as Barry skidded into the prison and made his entrance. It was a pain in the ass, lots of dodging and weaving and shooting past guards, but before long he was standing in front of Julius’ cell, his shoulders heaving.

He realised as he stood there that he’d committed a pretty huge oversight; he hadn’t figured out how the hell he was going to get _in._

Frustrated, Barry swore, kicking the door of the cell. To his astonishment, it swung open, and he stepped into the room.

A few seconds later, it all made sense. Someone had beaten him to the punch.

Julius lay flat on his back, blood seeping through his torn bandana. He’d been shot in the head. Barry dropped to his knees. The body was still warm; rigor mortis hadn’t set in. Death wasn’t a pretty thing, but usually the body had at least had time to go cold before Barry got to it. This kill was fresh, though. Couldn’t be more than a few minutes old. Barry’s head spun. He couldn’t even bring himself to regret that he hadn’t gotten his shot at vengeance; he was too confused.

Who would want to kill Julius?

Barry had his own personal vendetta, but from what he’d been able to dredge up of the man’s criminal record, he wasn’t anyone particularly high up in the criminal pecking order. Owed Stockheimer money, but so did half the population of Iron Heights. The guy hadn’t been in protective custody, and for Iron Heights, he was in a fairly low security cell. No one had expected him to be attacked, that much was clear. Not even himself, judging by the look on his face.

It didn’t matter: his top priority was getting the hell outta dodge before the cops showed up. He was a good five miles away from the prison before the realisation hit him, and Barry skidded to a stop so suddenly that he almost fell.

His guardian angel had struck again. The mystery gunman who’d helped him escape from Danton Black. That night, the stranger had riddled Black’s clones with bullets, provided enough of a distraction for Barry to get the upper hand and defeat the other meta. Then he’d vanished into the night before Barry had a chance to thank him. It had been so long since that night that he’d almost forgotten. But now the man had reared his head again, and Barry realised that whoever this guy was, he wasn’t just watching Barry’s back. He was keeping an eye on his family too.

In some ways, that was troubling. It would indicate that his mystery gunman knew that Barry Allen and the Flash were one and the same, for starters. It also indicated that he had a violent killer on his tail, watching his back and taking out his enemies. But Barry couldn’t bring himself to worry about that tonight. Whoever his guardian angel was, they’d killed the man who stabbed Barry’s dad. While he wasn’t glad, per se, he certainly wouldn’t be mourning for Julius. And in a slightly creepy way, it was nice to know someone had his back… even if they had a strange way of going about it.

There was a crackle from the comms that made him jump out of his skin; after all, he was kind of on unofficial business here. Of course he should have known that S.T.A.R Labs would pick up on it. The naked mannequin in the cortex was a pretty big giveaway. Grimacing, Barry activated his comms.

“What’s happening?”

“Barry, we’ve got a robbery in progress,” Caitlin said. “There’s a TDK money transfer truck on the way to Saint Louis, but Parker and Baez are in pursuit. You have to get down there now.”

“Shit,” Barry said. “But how do I stop her?””

“Listen to me, Barry,” Doctor Wells said. “Her ability has a visual component. All you have to do is obscure her vision. Blindfold her, cover her eyes with your hands - the how doesn’t matter, as long as you make sure she cannot see. If she can’t see, she can’t teleport.” His voice changed, then, going from fatherly teacher to stern gym coach in the space of a second. “Now _run,_ Barry. Baez cannot be left unchecked on the streets of this city. Stop her now. Do what you were born to do.”

Barry closed his eyes and shut off the comms link, trying to clear his head. He could still see the dead body lying on the floor of the cell, brains blown out. But he didn’t have time to think about that now. He had a metahuman to catch.

Taking a deep breath, Barry forced himself to set Julius aside. The man was dead, which meant - in a slightly morbid manner - that he had been taken care of. Now, Barry’s priority was Baez.

This time, she wouldn’t find him quite so easy to beat.

  


~*~

 

“You’re a fucking mess,” Mick said when he answered the door.

“Ooh, stop, you’re making me blush,” Len said as he shoved past him.

True, his kill had been a little messier than he’d have liked. He’d gotten rather too used to the cool efficiency of the cold gun; no blood, no fuss, just a well-contained ice-cube for a corpse. People bled everywhere when you shot them with ordinary bullets. His walk back from Iron Heights had been fraught with danger, having to keep his head down and his jacket zipped to cover the blood spatters on his sweaters..

Worth it.

“What the hell happened?” Mick demanded as Len started stripping off in his entranceway. He’d left his jacket in a bush outside the prison when he went inside, to keep it from being sullied, and already disposed of his shoes, stealing a new pair from a store on his way to Mick’s. The rest of his clothes, however, would have to be burned. He was sure Mick would be happy to oblige.

“Like I said,” he drawled. “I had a little business to take care of at Iron Heights. Thanks for the gun, by the way. I hope it wasn’t a favourite; I threw it in the river at the waterfront.”

“Who the hell did you shoot?”

“Charming guy named Julius,” Len said, pulling his bloody sweater over his head. “You still got some of my clothes lying around somewhere?”

“Closet,” Mick said dismissively. “Why’d you shoot him? I thought everyone who owed you made good on their debts months back.”

“They did. I collected my dues way back before my crime hiatus. No, this was more personal.” Len stood in Mick’s hallway in his underwear and noticed that his friend was giving him a very intense look. “Wind your neck in and quit ogling; I’m taken. Or were you admiring the latest addition to my collection?” He gestured at the freshest of his many scars. “You might remember this one. That’s from where you let some asshole shoot me on that arms deal a few weeks back. Care to recall?”

“Define personal,” Mick said, folding his arms.

“He stabbed Barry’s father,” Len said coolly. “Are you going to move your ass so I can put some clothes on?”

“Guys don’t get stabbed for no reason. Idiot probably had it coming.”

“Course he did. He grassed.”

“So why’d you help him?”

“Because he’s Barry’s father, and he’s a good person,” Len snapped, and he shoved past Mick and went into his bedroom to retrieve some clothes.

Mick’s room was a mess of empty beer bottles, dirty laundry and an extensive array of stolen goods, from jewellery to weapons to bizarre ornaments shaped like cats. Len gave an ugly lamp a bad-tempered kick on his way to the closet, and started rooting through Mick’s very limited selection of outfits. Grabbing the first items of his own clothing that he recognised, he started pulling them on. Mick stood in the doorway, arms still folded, scowling.

“Since when do you do things without a plan?”

“My family needed protecting.”

“Barry’s family.”

Len turned to him irritably. “What?”

“He’s Barry’s family. Not yours.”

“Same thing,” said Len, fastening his jeans.

“Since when?”

Len slammed the closet door shut. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Mick. You follow my orders, you let me take care of the rest. That’s how it’s always been with us.”

“Except right now you’re not acting like us,” Mick growled. “We steal. We’re only out for ourselves. We don’t do this shit. Rescue missions, and revenge. That ain’t part of our deal.”

“It is now,” Len said. “If you have a problem with that, then I guess I’ll have to find myself a new partner.”

“That’s just it, Snart,” Mick said, staring at Len as though he were a stranger. “Looks like you already did.”

 

~*~

  


Barry stood in the pipeline watching Shawna Baez furiously batter against the walls of her cell like a fly buzzing at a closed window. She kept fluttering in and out of existence, trying in vain to teleport. Screeching viciously, she slammed her palms against the glass. Beside him, Cisco flinched. Barry put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You’re sure there’s no way she can get out of there?”

“Positive,” Cisco said, though he kept a close eye on Baez all the same. “I installed two-way glass in that cell, like the cops use. There’s no way she’s getting out of there. Good thing, too. Hell hath no fury.” He shuddered.

“You mind giving me a couple of minutes alone with her?”

“Sure,” Cisco said. “Be my guest. ...Hey, Barr? Good job.” He clapped Barry warmly on the back.

Smiling, Barry patted him in response before Cisco made his departure, leaving Barry alone with the raging Baez. Silently, Barry leaned against the wall to wait.

He watched Baez continue to storm around her cell for several more minutes, swearing viciously, kicking the walls, and every few seconds attempting to teleport. Cisco had done his job, however. She wasn’t getting out any time soon.

It didn’t take her long to figure it out. Eventually, she sat down, leaning against the far wall of her cell, pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. She stared morosely ahead, shoulders heaving...and then she hid her face against her knees, hands over her head. A little guiltily, Barry turned away, not wanting to intrude upon her private moment. It felt wrong to be observing this moment of weakness, especially since she wasn’t aware he was watching.

After a minute or so, she composed herself and lifted her chin again, staring obstinately ahead. Barry moved over to the control panel and activated the comms.

“Shawna,” he said.

She jerked, her expression going dark. “Come to gloat?” she asked bitterly. “Don’t worry, I get it. You won. Clay ditched me and got off scot free, and I’m stuck here in your little prison cell. Unless you’re here to tell me that you caught him, too.”

“No,” said Barry. “He’s still out there, somewhere.”

The cops had gone after Parker, but Barry doubted they’d find him. If he hadn’t needed to focus on keeping Shawna contained, he’d have chased the man himself, but Shawna had to take priority. Clay Parker was just a man. A cowardly asshat of a man, but regardless, Barry hadn’t been able to justify going after him.

Shawna gave a strange, twisted smile. “You wanna know the best part? I’m glad. A part of me is glad he’s out there, that you didn’t catch him too.” She turned her face away. “He abandoned me. I would have done anything for him. I was never a real crook before all this. Sure, I was no saint. But everything I stole, all the stuff I did, all of it was for him. For us. And he paid me back by leaving me to get picked up by _you._ ” Tilting her head back, she banged it lightly against the wall. “But you know what’s the best part? The real kicker? If I could have a do-over, do all this again knowing how it turns out… I’d do it all again. I’d still go back for him.”

“Love makes us do crazy things,” Barry said softly. He thought about his father, and about Julius. Wondered just how far he would’ve gone, if his guardian angel hadn’t got there first.

They were both silent for a time. Shawna still had that twisted smile on her face, but her eyes were glazed over. He sensed that she wasn’t really with him any more.

Barry cleared his throat. She’d have plenty of time to ruminate on her actions later. Right now, he had questions he wanted answers. “I have to ask you something.”

“If you’re wondering how my powers work, don’t waste your breath. I never figured out the science behind it. I disappear here, reappear there. I don’t have to understand it, I just do it.”

“It’s not about that. I have some questions about your accomplice.”

Shawna smiled meanly. “I think we already established that even if I knew where Clay ran to, I wouldn’t tell you. More fool me.”

“I’m not talking about Clay.” Barry folded his arms. “When you and I had our fight in that parking lot, when you were robbing that UPS truck, you had an accomplice. You threw me over a railing, he shot me… ringing any bells?”

“I do seem to recall someone putting you on your ass.”

“He’s an old friend of mine. Or rather, an enemy. Haven’t figured quite it out yet. We’ve been calling him Captain Cold. The two of you attacked me, and then you left together. You’ve spoken to him; you know who he is.”

Shawna shrugged. “I wouldn’t say he’s my accomplice. I figured any guy who was willing to shoot you was a friend of mine, so sure, we talked.”

“About?”

“Aside from his death wish? He was on a recruitment drive. I turned down his offer, obviously. In retrospect, I’m starting to wish I’d taken him up on it.”

Perplexed, Barry said, “A recruitment drive? For what?”

“He wants to put a little team together,” Shawna said. “But that’s enough of that. You seem pretty interested in this ‘Captain Cold’. This information is valuable to you. Am I wrong?”

“I make a point of finding out a little more about anybody who wants to shoot me.”

“I wasn’t a crook for very long,” Shawna said, examining her nails. “But I’m a fast learner. And one thing I did learn is that crooks don’t do favours. We don’t do freebies. We do trades. Deals. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. You get what I’m saying, Flash?” She looked up, her eyes glittering. “I might be willing to do you a deal.”

“I’m not making any deals with you,” Barry said.

“You don’t know what I’m offering.”

“I know it won’t be worth the price you’re putting on it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Shawna got to her feet and came right up close to the glass, her breath misting on the surface. Shivering, Barry counted himself very lucky that she couldn’t see him right now. He wrapped his arms more tightly around himself and watched warily as she stared, hard, at a point just past his shoulder. Guessing at where he’d be. Uncomfortably, Barry shifted off to one side.

“You want to know more about your Captain Cold? I’ve got the kicker. I know his name. Seems like pretty valuable information to me.” She smiled slyly. “I’d be quite happy to tell it to you. All you have to do is let me out.”

“Dream on,” Barry said shortly.

“I thought you wanted to know who he is.”

“Not that badly.”

“Aw, come on, Flash.” She batted her eyelashes. “I’ll be good.”

“Oh, sure,” Barry said. “Like you wouldn’t attack me the second I opened that door.”

“I make good on my deals,” Shawna snapped. “Besides, the last thing I wanna do is piss you off. I’m at your mercy in here. You could do anything you wanted. All I’m suggesting is a simple business transaction. I tell you what you wanna know, you let me go, and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll leave the city. You won’t ever have to see me again, I can promise you that.” She tilted her head. “Don’t you want to know his name?”

“And what’s to stop you lying? You could tell me anything. You could name anyone you wanted and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“What could I possibly gain from lying to you?”

“Forget it. I’m not letting you out. You’re a thief, you’re dangerous, and you’re never getting out of that cell. I’m sorry, Shawna. I can’t trust you. If I honestly thought you were going to leave this city, keep your head down and start a new life, I’d be happy to let you out of there. But I can’t.”

Shawna’s expression turned murderous. Barry took an immediate step back. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone look so angry; it was an ugly expression, twisting her pretty face into something that was almost frightening.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” she hissed. “Me, dangerous? This, coming from the backstabbing bastard who sells out his own kind and locks them in a cell? You didn’t even try to talk to me, Flash! You never tried to understand. You just kicked my ass, locked me up and threw away the key.”

“You broke the law, Shawna. You and your boyfriend hurt people.”

“Right, because what you’re doing here is so lawful? Where was my trial? Where was my judge and jury, Flash?”

Barry said nothing.

“You know what?” she said, in a low, venomous tone. “Since you’ve been so good to me, I’ll make an exception. I _will_ give you a freebie, just between you and me.”

She turned her head in his direction, and Barry sharply took a step back. _She can’t see you,_ he told himself. _She’s not getting out._ It didn’t stop the panicked spasming of his heart, like a struggling animal caught in a trap.

“You think I’m dangerous? You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She gave a slow, sadistic smile. “He’s coming for you, Flash. You’ve got nowhere to run.”

A chill went down Barry’s spine.

“We talked a little, him and me. My first concern was getting the hell outta dodge, but not Captain Cold. He was quite happy to stick around, give you another taste of that fancy weapon of his. Those powers won’t protect you forever. If I could throw you around so easily, I can only imagine what he could do. What he _will_ do, when he gets his hands on you and finds out who you are.”

“What does he want from me?” Barry demanded. “What’d I do to him?”

“He’s not the chatty type,” Shawna said. “I don’t know whether it’s a personal vendetta or just because he’s a bad man, and bad men do bad things. But I do know this. He’s going to find you, and he’s going to make you his bitch. He’s going to crush you like a bug and force you to do his bidding, whether you like it or not. And when he does…” Her smile grew thorny and cruel. “I’ll be watching.”

Barry had heard enough. Without taking his eyes off Baez, he reached for the control panel to the pipeline. She was just trying to frighten him, he tried to reassure himself. But the viciousness of her expression told a different story. Oh, she meant it alright.

Until that moment, Captain Cold had never really frightened him. He’d always been a hypothetical danger; a mild annoyance at worst. After all, the first time he’d come face to face with the man, Cold had fled from _him._

Something had changed, Barry realised. Now that Cold had attacked and got away unscathed, drawn first blood… now he would be more confident, more willing to strike again. By the sound of it, he had plans for Barry, and it didn’t seem like he was going to like them.

“One way or another, Flash,” Shawna said as the shutters came down over the front of her cell, “one day, you’ll come to regret this.”

 

~*~

 

When Barry got to the hospital, he found his dad lying back in bed, seemingly sound asleep. For a moment he wavered, wondering whether he should leave him to sleep...but then he slipped into the room anyway and slowly sank into the plastic chair at his father’s bedside.

The second Barry’s ass touched the plastic, Henry opened his eyes and looked right at him. He smiled. Sheepishly, Barry gave him a little wave. Henry gave a little flutter of his fingers in return.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wanna wake you.”

“Wasn’t really sleeping. It’s good to see you, slugger.”

“How are you holding up?” Barry asked.

Henry shrugged and immediately pulled a face. “On the mend. They’re gonna discharge me in a couple more days. Too bad; I was kind of enjoying my little vacation. Food’s better here than it is in prison. Not by much, but…” He shook his head. “How about you? Any news on the investigation.”

“We lost Parker,” Barry said regretfully. “Slipped through our fingers. But we managed to catch his accomplice, the woman. Shawna Baez. She won’t be seeing the light of day again for a very long time.”

“Is it true, what they said? She was a metahuman?”

“That’s right, she was. She was a teleporter, actually,” Barry said, smiling.

“A teleporter?” Henry said, his eyes lighting up. “Like _Star Trek_?”

Grinning, Barry gave him the Vulcan salute. Henry flashed it right back at him, beaming.

“It’s crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “All the madness that’s going on in this city. Teleporters and gas-men and god knows what else. What a world we live in.”

Barry watched the look on his father’s face very carefully. Most people spoke of metahumans with disgust, annoyance, thinly veiled fear...but Henry spoke of them the same way Iris did. With wonder. Excitement. He had seen the damage a rogue meta could do with his own eyes, but it hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm. Instead, he seemed enraptured at the very thought.

It was that which cemented Barry’s decision. He’d been turning it over and over in his mind for a while now, wondering whether or not he should come clean… but this moment showed him that he could trust his father to respond to his revelation with joy, not revulsion.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Like you have to ask. Come on, out with it.”

Barry rubbed his sweaty hands on his jeans. “I...things have been...different, lately. For me. My life has been crazy. Not like it was ever ordinary, but things have changed. That lightning strike.. It changed me. My mind was opened to things I couldn’t possibly have understood before. And for the first time, other people can see the extraordinary things I see, and they don’t think I’m crazy!” He licked his lips. “I know this is still going to be...difficult for you to accept. I need you to hear me out, okay? What I have to tell you, it’s going to sound ridiculous. Impossible, even. But I need you to believe me.”

“I’ve always believed in you, Barry, you know that.” Henry hesitated. “...This isn’t about Bigfoot, is it? Because I gotta admit, I’m going to have a little difficulty getting behind that one.”

_Fucking Bigfoot_ , Barry thought. Was that one ever going to stop coming back to haunt him?

“It’s not Bigfoot,” he said. “It’s me. I… Dad, I’m the Flash.”

There was an unbearably long pause. His father looked at him, expression inscrutable, and the intensity of his stare made Barry sweat. He couldn’t read his reaction, couldn’t fathom how on earth this revelation had sounded to him.

“Oh, I bet you are,” Henry said eventually.

Barry’s heart sank. He’d spent his entire late childhood having people think he was crazy, being pleasant to his face and then spluttering with laughter behind his back. Sometimes just laughing outright. Dozens of placid psychiatrists nodding blankly; adults with pitying smiles. He knew full well when someone was humouring him.

“Dad, please - I know it sounds crazy, but I can prove it, I swear to god I’m not making it up - just let me - ”

“Hold on,” Henry interrupted. “I’m not done. I mean it. I believe in you, son. Always have. And of course I believe you’re the Flash. If I’m being honest… I’m not really surprised.”

Barry’s heart hammered. “You… believe me?”

It was still an unfamiliar sensation, having someone accept what he said as the truth. After so many years of being doubted, told he was wrong, having his perceptions invalidated and his beliefs mocked, he found it so strange to have someone just believe him like that. Especially when he’d said something so blatantly crazy.

“You really believe me? Why?”

“Well firstly, I know you aren’t crazy,” Henry said matter-of-factly. “A little eccentric, sure - but crazy? Far from it. And you wouldn’t lie about something this big, so what other choice do I have than to believe you? Besides, it’s not so hard to believe you’re the Flash.” He looked Barry in the eye. “There’s a man who lives in this city. He’s stubborn, and brave, and he fights for what’s right. He’s dedicated his whole life to helping others in any way he can. He thinks that’s more important than anything. And when trouble calls, you can bet your ass he’ll run towards it before he runs away. God, you should see him run.” He smiled. “Now, I could be talking about the Flash. But I could also be talking about my son. Is it so hard to believe that they’re one and the same?”

“I love you, Dad,” Barry said, fighting past the lump in his throat.

“And I love you. I’m so proud of you, Barry. Proud, and scared as hell, if I’m being honest. Promise me you’ll be careful? It’s a dangerous world out there. You are more precious to me than anything. Promise me you’ll take care.”

“I always do,” Barry said. “I have a team to watch my back. They’ll make sure that no matter what, I’ll always come home.”

“Good,” Henry said. He gave Barry a sly look. “Now are you going to give me a demonstration?”

“I thought you believed me.”

“I believed that you got A grades on all your report cards in high school, but I still wanted to see ‘em. You’re seriously telling me you don’t want to show your old man what you can do?”

Barry grinned broadly. Admittedly, he did love getting the opportunity to show off.

He rushed out of the room in a flurry of fabric, shot down to the nearest store and grabbed a punnet of grapes and a bouquet of flowers. Dropping the money into an open till as he sped past, he blurred back into Henry’s hospital room, slowed back down and held out his prizes with a grin.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” he said.

The look of glee on his father’s face made Barry laugh in spite of himself. Taking the flowers, Henry inhaled, then ripped open the grapes and popped a couple into his mouth.

“I hope you paid for these,” he said sternly, cheeks bulging like a hamster’s.

“Please, you and mom raised me right.”

“That was impressive,” Henry said. “How fast can you go exactly?”

Barry shrugged. “So far the fastest I’ve clocked is a little over eight hundred miles per hour.”

Henry whistled. “God damn. Eight hundred? That’s crazy.” He ate another grape. “Does Leonard know?”

Barry deflated like a burst balloon. Looking away, he helped himself to a few of the grapes.

His hesitation spoke volumes; Henry looked at him disapprovingly. “ _Barry -_ ”

“I know, I know! I just… Len’s protective. If he knew I was running around the city fighting metahumans, he’d freak. He’d never sleep at night. It’s better for everyone if he doesn’t know.”

“He has a right to know, Barry. He’s your partner.”

“He wouldn’t understand,” Barry said pleadingly. “I love Len to pieces, but he has very strict priorities. There are a limited number of people he cares about, and if you’re not on the list, you’re just… collateral. Me running around risking my life for a bunch of strangers… he wouldn’t get it.”

“Anyone who’s ever spent five minutes with you knows you don’t feel that way. Helping people is important to you, Barry, it’s a part of who you are. Leonard knows that.”

“He’d hate it,” Barry said. “I don’t want to start a fight...I don’t want him to worry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know I’m going to have to tell him eventually. I can’t keep this a secret forever… but for now, it’s nice to be able to keep things separate, you know? Being the Flash is a huge responsibility, it’s a whole lot of stress. If I screw up, people could die. I have to constantly focus on being faster, being stronger, being better. My entire life revolves around saving lives and being a superhero, and at S.T.A.R Labs, they’re always running tests or trying to make me more powerful, and it’s nice to be able to go home and get away from all that. When I’m with Len, I don’t have to be the Flash. I can just be Barry.” He shook his head. “I love having powers, and helping people. But sometimes I just need to put all that away for a second and have some time to clear my head. To be me. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Listen to me. There are two things which are paramount to the success of a relationship: trust, and communication. Do you trust him?”

“Of course I do!”

“And he trusts you, I’m sure...but should he? You’re lying to him, Barry. And this is a pretty big lie.”

Barry bit his lip. “It’s not really lying. It’s just delaying the truth for a while. I will tell him one day, I’m just waiting for the right time.”

“There’s not going to _be_ a right time. There’s never going to be a single moment where telling him will be easy, where it’ll all work out. The longer you put it off, the harder it’s gonna be. A lie only gets bigger with time, and it only gets more difficult to let go of. Think about it. If you told him within a week, that wouldn’t be so bad. Within a month or two, that would be worse, but he’d still forgive you. But you keep drawing this out, let it go on for _years,_ and it could ruin your relationship. Trust is important. You can’t trust someone who’s been keeping secrets for that long. You’re just going to torment yourself wondering what else they’re hiding.

“Take my advice: tell him now. Stop putting it off, quit waiting for the perfect moment, and just do it. Because if it all comes out some other way, it’ll be far worse. At least if it comes from you, he knows you decided to come clean of your own free will, and that’ll soften the blow. But if he finds out by accident - and he will find out, one way or another - he’s going to find out that you didn’t trust him enough to be honest with him.” Henry looked reproachfully at him. “You’ve got a good thing going, slugger. Don’t screw it up.”

“I don’t know how to tell him,” Barry whispered. “I’m scared, Dad. I don’t know if he’ll be able to accept that side of me.”

“Love means accepting all sides of someone. Even the parts you don’t like. The Flash isn’t such a hard pill to swallow. He only represents the parts of you that Leonard already knows. Your hope. Your bravery. Your goodness. Leonard already knows you have all of that inside you, Barry. He loves you for all of that.” Henry reached out to touch Barry’s hand. “Don’t keep any parts of you hidden away. You deserve better. Give Leonard the chance to prove that he loves you. I promise you, he won’t waste it. He’s a good man, deep down.”

“It’s not so deep,” Barry said, smiling. “All you gotta do is scratch the surface.”

“Joe would beg to differ. He thinks your boyfriend is basically Satan.”

Barry snorted. “Yeah, Len’s worked very hard to cultivate that impression. He makes dickishness into an art form.”

“Don’t I know it.” Henry held his hand more tightly. “Just think about something for a second. You’re afraid that Leonard won’t accept you as the Flash, that he’ll think it’s too dangerous. You don’t want him to worry. Understandable as that is, it’s not fair to keep it from him. You’re not invulnerable, Barry. Fighting all these metahumans like you do, you’re going to get hurt. And as much as I hate to say this, if something goes wrong some day, and you don’t make it out, Leonard won’t know what happened to you. You’ll just disappear out of his life. For all he knows, you could have walked out on him, you could’ve been abducted, anything could have happened, and he’d never have any closure on that.” He took a deep breath. “Or worst of all, you die, and when the cops take your body away, you get unmasked. And the Flash gets delivered to him in a body bag.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Barry said appalled.

“I’m not saying it’s inevitable. I’m just saying that if he found out that way, it would crush him. Don’t take that risk. No one knows better than we do that life is fleeting. You never know when you’re gonna lose it. _Tell him,_ Barry.”

“And if I don’t, then you will. Right?”

“No,” Henry said. “That’s not my decision to make. Like I said, this is something that should come from you. And it’s your secret; I won’t betray you. But I’m begging you, Barry, do the right thing. Be honest with him, speak from the heart. The rest will take care of itself.”

 

~*~

 

Len came to pick Barry up from the hospital on his bike, and they zoomed back to the apartment with Barry riding pillion and clinging to him for dear life. Sure, he could run ten times as fast as the bike even on a bad day, but there was something about having nothing but empty air behind him that made him horribly uneasy, and every time they turned, he was terrified the bike would capsize. He clung to Len like a finger monkey, eyes squeezed tightly shut half the time, and pinned wide open the other half. The bike roared underneath him like a wild beast, and Len seemed to enjoy taking his turns a little more tightly just to freak him out. The only way the experience could’ve been worse would be if Len had made him sit in the dorky little sidecar he kept at Lisa’s place; Barry had suffered that shame only once before and refused to repeat it. If he was going to die in a motorcycle accident, he was going to die with dignity.

On the whole, he definitely preferred running.

They pulled up at the apartment and Barry staggered away from the bike with legs like bags of jelly. Very runny jelly, which hadn’t set. Len laughed at him as he removed his helmet.

“You’d think you’d be used to that by now.”

“You drive like a maniac,” Barry protested. “I think I might puke.”

“That’s too bad,” Len said. “I was going to order Chinese food, but…”

“Changed my mind, not puking,” Barry said immediately.

“I thought you might.” Swatting him on the ass, Len said, “Come on, scaredy cat, let’s go inside. Oh, and lose the helmet. You look like an imbecile.”

As they headed back up to the apartment, Barry tried to calm the tornado of butterflies in his stomach without success. If he was being honest with himself, his jelly legs had less to do with the bike and more to do with the fact that he was going to finally come clean. Scary as it was, he knew his dad was right: Len deserved to know, perhaps more than anyone. The trouble was that Barry had no idea how to do this. Before dinner? Halfway through? And what was he supposed to say? Len was a sceptic; it was highly unlikely he’d just accept Barry’s explanation without question like his father had. Should he go all out, run out on an excuse and then burst in wearing the suit? Unmask himself for maximum drama? His palms were sweating.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After dinner, he decided. He’d feel better about this on a full stomach.

The food didn’t take long to arrive, but Barry was jittery the entire time. He wandered around the apartment, pretending to tidy up, when really there was very little to clean. He flicked through TV channels way too quickly to register what any of the shows were. The whole time Len watched him with poorly concealed amusement, although Barry knew that would likely change if he didn’t stop pacing around the apartment like a caged bear. Throwing himself down on the couch, he tried to relax, and discovered he’d completely forgotten how to act like a normal person. He arranged his limbs into one of Len’s favourite bizarre lounging positions, the kind he always made fun of, and tried to look nonchalant.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Len asked him.

“Me? What? I, er, nothing, what?”

“Since when do you sit like that?”

Barry said, “What are you talking about? I always sit like this.”

The doorbell rang, saving Barry from further interrogation. Len gave him a very odd look, but went off to answer it, and Barry took the moment of reprieve to take his feet off the back of the sofa and try to sit a little less conspicuously.

“So how’s your dad?” Len asked as he rooted through the bag of food, doling out polystyrene containers. They didn’t usually eat in the living room as a general rule, but they always made an exception for take-out. Len piled up the containers on the tabletop in neat columns. Barry’s was at least twice as tall as Len’s, a veritable Tower of Babel made up of steaming containers, but he was too hungry to be self-conscious about it.

“Yeah, he’s doing better,” Barry said, helping himself to the uppermost container. “I think he’s kind of enjoying himself, actually. Apparently the food in hospital is better than it is in prison.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Len tore open the bag of prawn crackers. “And the case you were working on? Any luck?”

“Some,” Barry said. “We lost Parker, but they managed to catch his accomplice. Shawna Baez. She was a metahuman; she could teleport. Iris’ disappearing woman story wasn’t so crazy after all. Baez broke Parker out of jail and she was helping him to pay off his debts. It ended up in a car chase. Parker made a run for it, but Baez was cornered. Doubt we’ll be hearing from her again.”

“The cops caught a metahuman without assistance?”

“Well,” Barry said. “They had some help.” He took a deep breath. What better time to come clean about the Flash, when they were already on the subject? “I guess the Flash decided to lend a hand. He’s been working pretty closely with the police lately. Not in any official capacity, but...”

“Ah!” Len said. “Well, that explains it. She wouldn’t stand a chance with the Flash around.

Scourge of the metahuman race, and all that.”

Barry stilled. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard? Word on the street is that all the metahumans are terrified of him. They’re cowering under their beds, all terrified that he’ll go after them next.”

“Where did you hear this?”

Len shrugged. “On the grapevine. Guys at work like to gossip like a bunch of old women. Occasionally they come up with something interesting.”

Troubled, Barry said, “The Flash only targets evil metahumans. People who are trying to destroy the city.”

“Right, but evil is subjective. How’s the Flash supposed to tell the difference between genuine evil or just a little bit badly behaved? Fear makes people act out. Half of the metas who’ve tried to level the city might just be scared and struggling to control their powers.”

“The Flash helps people!”

“Normal people,” said Len. “Not metahumans. How many metas the Flash has faced have ever been heard from again? Nobody knows what happens to them - they just vanish. Crazy rumours are floating around.”

“Like what?”

Len’s eyes twinkled. “Apparently he eats them.” He popped a prawn cracker into his mouth.

In spite of himself, Barry had to laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Sure is.” After a moment though, Len grew serious again. “It must be scary, being on the other end of it. Sure, the ordinary, law abiding humans of Central City can sleep easy knowing the Flash is on the streets. But what about the crooks? The broken ones, the homeless, the desperate? Knowing at any second they could be targeted just for making a living the only way they know how? I’ve lived that life. And it must be even worse for the metahumans. The second they start to manifest, they start to live in fear of the Flash. Any guy who turns on his own kind like that… well. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

Barry shifted uneasily. “It’s not that black and white. The Flash is just trying to do the right thing. It can’t be easy, being the only one with the power to save the city.”

“He abducts people off the streets and nobody ever hears from them again. They don’t get a trial, or a judge and jury to look at their cases like everyone else. One little screw-up and they’re gone. Nobody knows if he locks them away or if he just kills them outright - but what kind of justice is that? One man deciding what happens to anyone who ever did any wrong? Sounds pretty dark to me.”

Barry fell silent after that. His stomach churned. All of a sudden the heat of the food seeping through the packaging made him feel ill. He looked down at his rice, which reminded him of nothing more than woodlice squirming around in the container, and the sauce that looked unpleasantly like congealed blood, and pushed it away.

He’d never realised Len thought of the Flash like that. Whenever they’d talked about him before, Len had always seemed to be intrigued. Curious. Barry had imagined that he would respond to his confession positively...maybe not at first. He was sure there would be some anger to begin with; he’d lied to Leonard, after all. But after that he thought Len would be impressed by his powers, proud of what he’d achieved. The thought that Len saw the Flash as a negative force, a tyrant who doled out punishments and left the metahumans of the city cowering in fear, afraid of his retribution… Barry had never thought of it that way. The things he did at S.T.A.R Labs were supposed to help, to keep people safe. He’d never considered that he might be inadvertently terrorising the city’s metahuman population.

No wonder he’d seen so few metahumans with morals: they were all hiding from him. _Afraid_ of him. Barry’s stomach rebelled against him, half-digested food curdling in his gut.

Meanwhile Len kept chattering away, unusually talkative. He talked about Mick, whom he hadn’t seen in a while, and Lisa, who had a new boyfriend who was an asshole. Of course, Len always thought Lisa’s boyfriends were assholes, so this was not unusual. Ordinarily Barry would have loved to hear Len so chatty; it was a rare occurrence. Usually it was Barry talking his ear off, not the other way around. He’d scarcely ever known Len to be in such a good mood.

Eventually, though, Len noticed that Barry was stirring his food around with the little plastic fork and not actually eating any of it, and he frowned. “Everything okay, Barry?”

“Peachy,” Barry said automatically.

“You’ve barely touched your food.”

“I’m not really hungry."

Getting up, Len headed over and perched on the arm of the sofa. He put a cool hand to Barry’s forehead.

“You coming down with something?”

“Maybe,” said Barry, who hadn’t had so much as a sniffle since the lightning struck him. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Maybe you should go lie down,” Len said. “I’ll clear all this up.”

“Okay,” Barry said, and he shuffled off to bed fully clothed, socks and all.

Lying in the darkness listening to the muffled sounds of Len clearing away the remnants of their dinner, Barry hugged his knees to his chest and tried to breathe past the unpleasant curdling sensation in his stomach. Up until now, he’d been so convinced that being the Flash was the right thing to do. He was saving the city. Imprisoning dangerous metas and humans alike, administering justice. There had never been any reason to doubt that he was doing good in the world - people would be hurt if the Flash didn’t intervene, people might even die.

It had never occurred to him that there might be people out there who saw the Flash not as a symbol of hope, but one of fear.

Every meta he had apprehended had been doing damage, he reminded himself. Mardon had robbed banks and attacked Joe. Tony Woodward had abducted Iris. Baez was a thief. He had never acted without justification, never attacked anybody who hadn’t done something bad first. It wasn’t like he was just doling out punishment at random, and he certainly wasn’t targeting anyone just because they were a meta. Finding that he seemed to be the only metahuman with a conscience was starting to make him feel cripplingly lonely; no one would have been more pleased than Barry if he had been able to find a meta who, like him, wanted to help people. To use their powers for good.

Knowing this didn’t make him feel any better. He lay in the darkness with a growing feeling of nausea until eventually, Len slipped in beside him, his body cool between the sheets. Silently, he drew Barry against him. Barry closed his eyes and buried his face in Len’s neck, his breath heating the skin there. Len held him for a while, rubbing Barry’s back through his shirt, not commenting on the fact that he’d gone to bed fully clothed. In spite of that, and in spite of Len’s body heat added to the mix, Barry found himself shivering.

“You’re really not feeling good, huh?” Len murmured.

Barry shook his head.

“You want me to run down to the store for some Advil?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“...Is it what I said about the Flash?”

All attempts at subtlety went out of the window at that point; Barry felt himself stiffen and knew there was no way Len hadn’t noticed it. He closed his eyes and prayed very hard that Len wouldn’t try and make eye contact with him.

“Look, you have to remember I’m a cynical asshole. I’m looking at him with a totally different perspective. I wasn’t always as squeaky clean as I am now. Once upon a time I was a little bastard, doing unlawful shit to make ends meet. I look at the Flash and see him the way one of the bad guys sees him. You look at him and see a hero.”

Barry said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. The thought that if Len was still the same man he had been years and years ago, he would have been afraid of Barry… it was nauseating.

Would he still be scared of him now?

“I’m sure he’s not a bad guy,” Len said soothingly. “Like you said, he’s doing his best to do the right thing. Unfortunately the right thing tends to be up for debate depending on who you’re talking to. You have hope, Barry. You see the best in people. I love that about you.”

“It’s been a long day,” Barry mumbled.

“I know,” Len said softly, though he didn’t. “You need some space?”

“I think I need a hug,” Barry admitted.

“I can do that.”

Len wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin on Barry’s shoulder. Barry clung to him, fighting the urge to burst into tears. Earlier on, he would have leapt at any excuse not to reveal his identity to Leonard, but now he’d been denied of the opportunity he found himself aching to tell all. To have come so close to telling the truth and then having to slam the door shut on his revelation was more painful than he’d expected. His whole body was tense with the effort of holding it all in.

Once upon a time, in that beautiful shining period between the beginning of their relationship and his stupid coma, he could have told Len anything. To an extent that was still true. But there was no getting around it: this was a huge part of himself that he was keeping hidden, and from the one person he was supposed to be able to trust implicitly.

A tremor wracked Barry’s body, a sob almost forcing its way out. Appalled at his lack of self-control, he held his breath and pressed his lips tightly together. Len’s hand slid comfortingly down his spine.

“Alright,” he said. “Let it out.”

Barry shook his head.

“It’s just me. Let it out.”

“You hate it when I cry,” Barry said thickly.

“I hate it even more when you repress shit. You’re terrible at it. Besides, that’s my job.” He turned his head and said quietly, “Come on, out with it. This isn’t about the Flash. What’s it really about?”

It was a good job Len couldn’t see Barry’s face; it would have betrayed him for sure. Turning his face into Len’s neck, Barry tried to control his expression, but only succeeded in losing the tenuous control he’d had over his tear ducts. The first one spilled over, and he pressed his lips more firmly together in shame. Considering how much he’d been dreading telling Len in the first place, it was ridiculous to get so upset over this. Or so he told himself.

But it had hurt so much to hear Len unknowingly saying those things about him. Thinking he was a bad person, a bigot and a bully, a _traitor_. The words were like needles jabbing at him, making him flinch at the thought. Even more so because they had been stated without malice, like simple facts.

“It’s about your dad, isn’t it?” He took Barry’s silence for confirmation. “You said yourself he’s on the mend. You don’t have to worry.”

“Of course I do. He’s my dad. I’ll always worry about him.”

“Yes, but you know what I mean. In this situation specifically, you don’t have to worry. He stuck his nose where he shouldn’t, he got his slap on the wrist, and that’ll be the end of it. These guys don’t hold grudges, not for a first offence. Your dad got his comeuppance. As long as he doesn’t make the same mistake twice, he’s golden.”

“I guess.”

“Look, I know what I’m talking about. I’ve known guys on the inside. As long as your father keeps his head down and minds his own business from now on, he has nothing to worry about.” His hand dipped underneath Barry’s shirt, cool fingers tracing circles against the small of his back. In spite of himself, Barry’s eyelids fluttered and he relaxed into the touch. “Besides, the guy who stabbed him isn’t going to cause any more trouble. He’s dead.”

Barry frowned, stirring slightly. “What? How do you know that?” He knew for sure he hadn’t mentioned it; he hadn’t told anyone about his trip to Iron Heights, except for his friends at S.T.A.R Labs - and only because he wanted their opinion about his mysterious protector.

“Saw it on the news,” Len said. “One prison break causes suspicion, but a prison break, a stabbing, and then a prisoner found shot in his cell, and all within the space of a few days? That starts getting sketchy. They’ve had a fair bit of news coverage.” He kissed Barry on the cheek. Surprised, Barry leaned back a little to look at him, and Len smiled as he said, “Everything is going to be fine, Barry. I promise.”

“I can’t lose him,” Barry said. He felt a rush of guilt for exploiting Len’s mistake, but it wasn’t entirely a lie. He could still remember the way he’d felt when Len broke the news that Henry had been stabbed. The sickening, clammy sensation breaking over him in a wave. The knots forming in his intestines. And Len had given him a lifeline, a lie he could work off. Barry wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“You won’t lose him. The guards will keep a close eye on him to make sure it doesn’t happen again. After all the issues they’ve been having, they’ll be watching very carefully to make sure nothing else goes down in that place. It’s bad for business, having prisoners getting hurt.”

“I can’t lose you either,” Barry said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Now why would you say that?”

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Barry said. “This... _you_ are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t screw this up. I can’t lose you too. I love you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Barry,” Len said. “Come on, hey. Look at me.” He pushed Barry back a little and cupped his face in his hands. “You’re not gonna lose me. Neither of us are going anywhere. This whole business with your dad has got you on edge, and that’s understandable. But you don’t have to worry about me. Or you. Let me take care of all that. All you have to do is take care of yourself. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure,” Barry said bravely.

“Good,” Len said, and kissed him. “I’ll take care of you. And your dad. And everyone you care about. Trust me.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” Len said firmly. “And I do. You take it from me, Scarlet. I look after my own. That means you. That means your family. And that means anything you need from me is yours. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” said Barry, with a small smile. He turned and kissed Len on the cheek, wishing that his words could do more to ease the squeezing feeling in his stomach. “I know.”

 


	28. Chapter 28

There was something very wrong with the world, Len reflected, when  _ Barry  _ had gone out to hang out with his friends and Len was the one sat at home on the sofa trawling through the blogs of obscure conspiracy theorists on his down-time. True, Len had all but had to kick Barry out of the apartment to make him quit moping about the place, but even so. 

It was strange; most of the time Barry was his usual self, bouncing around the apartment - but ever so often he’d lapse into these strange moods. He was  _ brooding -  _ Len didn’t like it. He was supposed to be the moody one. So when Cisco called, interrupting one of Barry’s mopey silences to invite him to a gaming night, Len had insisted that Barry go. Let Ramon buoy him up with copious amounts of junk food and optimism. In the meantime, Len had research to do. 

The Flash had caught up with Baez. Presumably he’d figured out that restricting her vision was the way to go around the same time Len had. It was a testament to his acting that he hadn’t allowed Barry to see how uneasy he was that Baez had been apprehended… but he had a nasty suspicion that Barry had sensed that something was off, because the droopy silences had begun immediately after that conversation. Maybe he’d laid it on a bit too thick with the ‘Flash is the scourge of the metahuman race’ crap - but Barry had been the one to spend all that time insisting the Flash was dangerous and they should steer clear of him. Len could only assume his sudden 180 was because the Flash had started working with the cops, and therefore he  _ had  _ to be a good guy! Clearly. Len rolled his eyes. 

One thing Barry  _ was  _ right about, though, was that the Flash wasn’t one to be messed with. And Len didn’t intend to. His gun had worked better than he’d expected against the metahuman, but Shawna’s powers had seemed to get the better of him at first, too, and look how that had turned out. No, Len was going to have to amp things up a little if he wanted to be sure of taking the bastard out - and he still had no idea of the man’s identity. Something he didn’t know how to rectify. Without having leverage against him, he didn’t dare move against him openly. And even these ridiculous online conspiracy blogs didn’t have a clue who the guy was. Disgustedly, Len closed all of his tabs. If only Barry wasn’t so scrupulous - and apparently a Flash fanboy to boot. If Len could have taken him to the scene of a Flash sighting and had him do his forensics mojo, maybe he could get a DNA sample, run it through the CCPD database, and… 

_ And then lose  _ his job. Len was no expert, but he was pretty sure that kind of shit was frowned upon. Besides which, the Flash probably had some freaky metahuman DNA that couldn’t be analysed, or mutated and attacked the microscope or some other stupid crap. 

Dead end after dead end. Scowling, Len closed his laptop and was about to get up and grab a drink when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

He froze. They didn’t get many callers, especially not when Barry wasn’t even home. Either it was Mick (unlikely; Mick had been avoiding him ever since that weird conversation they'd had the night Len killed Julius) or it was one of the neighbours coming to borrow something. Len didn't like their neighbours much. They kicked up a fuss whenever he and Barry fucked too loudly, and they liked to hang around the stairwell and give him dirty looks. Of course, all of them were far more pleasant to Barry, who was excused for his excessive loudness on virtue of his baby face and penchant for cheerful small-talk.  
  
When he opened the door, though, it was Joe on the threshold. Len's mood soured. On the whole he thought he'd actually have preferred a visit from that nosy bat from across the hall.  
  
"Leonard," Joe said coolly. "Is Barry at home?"  
  
"He's with Cisco. Game night."  
  
Joe's forehead crinkled. "And that's okay with you?"  
  
"Any reason why it shouldn't be?"  
  
"Last I heard, you were kind of the jealous type."   
  
"Cisco and Barry are friends,” Len said coolly. “I have a few friends of my own. Why would I be jealous of that?"  
  
Joe pursed his lips. "Never thought I'd hear you say something reasonable."  
  
“There’s a first time for everything,” Len said, folding his arms. “Why are you here, West? I already told you Barry isn’t around.”

Looking shiftily around, Joe said, “Can I come in?”

“Now why would you want to do that?”

“It’s about Barry.”

“And here I was thinking you’d come around for a beer and a cosy chat.”

Joe clenched his jaw. “It’s about his mom’s murder.”

Len scowled. Trust Joe to play the ace in the very first round. 

Reluctantly, he stepped back from the door and allowed the detective to step inside. Having a cop in his home, let alone willingly allowing one over the threshold, still rankled. He thought of the blueprints under the couch and immediately pushed the thought down. 

Joe sat down in their rarely used armchair whilst Len went back to lounging on the sofa, arms folded. 

“Aren’t you gonna offer me a drink?” Joe asked.

“Do I look like a barista to you?”

“You look like my future son in law,” Joe pointed out, “unfortunately. Might be in your best interests to play nice.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Len drawled. “You said you were here about Nora Allen’s murder.”

“I’m gonna be straight with you, Snart - and don’t you dare turn that into a pun - ”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” lied Len, forcibly restraining himself from making at least three different puns about his sexuality.

“I saw you at the bar the other night, when I was talking to Doctor Wells. You were eavesdropping.”

“Was I?”

Joe gave him a hard look. Len raised his eyebrows.

“Clearly I’m slacking,” he said. “Didn’t realise you’d noticed.”

“I’m a detective, Snart. It’s my job to notice. So, you were listening when I questioned Wells. Thoughts?”

“I can’t stand the bastard,” said Len. “I think he’s manipulative and creepy, and he has Barry exactly where he wants him. All this mess worked out rather too well for Harrison Wells. Besides which, I’m pretty sure Barry has a teeny little crush on him, and thinking about it makes me want to vomit. But you already know all of that.”

“Barry has a crush on Wells?” Joe said, wrinkling his nose. “That, I  _ didn’t  _ know. Not sure I wanted to. Ugh.” He shook his head. “But the real question is, do you think he killed Nora?”

“Do you?”

“I had my suspicions,” admitted Joe. “At the very least I figured he was involved somehow… but after everything he said, I’m not so sure. I assume you looked into Tess Morgan too.”

“Obviously. I may not like Wells, but after I came so close to losing Barry, I figure I got a pretty good glimpse of what that feels like. It certainly explains why he’s such a repugnant dick. And it’s a reasonable explanation for moving to a new city. If Barry died, I’d raze this city to the ground before I spent one more minute in it.” 

“Honestly I felt like hell for grilling him like that after I found out about it,” Joe said. “But at the same time, I just have a hunch that things aren’t quite right about Wells. I’ve been a cop for a long time; by this point I’ve learned to trust my instincts… and like you said, a lot of things have been going in his favour since that particle accelerator blew up.”

“Like having Barry as his personal lab rat.”

“I don’t like the thought of that any more than you do. But you know Barry; he’s stubborn. If he thinks he can help someone, there’s no talking him out of it. ...Did you tell him what I was saying to Wells?”

“Wells is his hero. I figured it’d only shake things up if Barry knew that you suspected his involvement. Worst case scenario he’d go to Wells himself and screw up your entire investigation.” He leaned back against the cushions. “I may have… bent the truth a little.”

Joe nodded. “Good. Last thing I need is Barry getting involved in this side of things.” He hesitated. “Especially since I think I’m on the right track. I need you to look at something. Can I trust you to keep quiet about it, Leonard? It’s important.” Swallowing, he said, “Iris might be in trouble. Her safety could depend on you keeping your damn mouth shut. Can you promise me that?”

“Cross my heart,” Len said, with only mild sarcasm.

Joe looked warily at him, scrutinising every inch of his expression. Len tried to project sincerity and was certain he did a piss-poor job of it - it wasn’t an emotion that came naturally to him - but he must have convinced Joe somehow, because with a grim expression, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over. 

Len carefully smoothed it out. It was a picture of Iris, beaming at the camera with her head tilted. The picture had been defaced; aside from being screwed up, there were several slashes in the photograph, and a jagged tear directly in the centre of Iris’ face. It had also been covered in ugly red scrawls. Someone had clearly put some real force behind their scribbling; the pen had dug deep. 

“You sure were mad about her dating Eddie, huh?” 

“That’s not funny,” Joe said. “You know damn well I wouldn’t do that to a picture of my own daughter.” He took a deep breath. “Turn it over.”

Len did. There was writing on the back, in that same vicious shade of red. The letters were smeared, but it was still legible: in block capitals, it read ‘BACK OFF’. 

“I got this a couple of nights ago,” Joe said. “I was at home reviewing the files I had on Nora’s case. I only just pulled them out of storage. It was, I don’t know, maybe a day or so after I questioned Wells; I’d already been to apologise at this point. But I was home alone, I was reading up on the case - and all of a sudden there was  _ something  _ in the house.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to describe it. It was malevolent. Like some kind of awful energy that made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And I knew whatever it was, it wanted to hurt me.”

“Like a ghost?” Len said sceptically. 

“Like a metahuman,” Joe said. “An angry one. It started shooting around, trashing the house. Threw stuff everywhere. Whatever it was, it was  _ pissed _ . And I couldn’t get a good look at it. There was just this red lightning flying all over the place, and the thing was zipping around too fast for me to see. It stopped eventually, but when it did, that photo was pinned to the wall. With a knife. And all the evidence, everything I had on Nora Allen’s case, was gone. Whatever that thing was, it didn’t want me digging any deeper into this.”

“Red lightning,” Len said slowly. “So it was the Flash.”

“It wasn’t the Flash.”

“You people are all so convinced that the Flash can do no wrong. A superhuman force that moved too fast for you to see, and all this lightning inside your house? Sounds a lot like the Flash to me.”

“The Flash likes sticking his nose into crime scenes,” Joe said. “I’ve seen him do his things enough times to know that his lightning ain’t red.”

Len pursed his lips. That was true; he’d seen it firsthand. Whenever the Flash showed up, it was with a distinct crackle of yellow. 

“Whatever that thing was, it clearly knows more about me and my family than I’d like. It knows where I live, for starters. And it doesn’t want me looking into this case. That makes me think that I must be on the right track. But if that’s true, then it went to pretty extreme lengths to get me to back off.”

Len ran his fingertips over the ugly rent in the photograph. “And has it succeeded?”

“You really think I’d be here talking to you if it had? I don’t like being threatened. If someone points a gun at me, I’m gonna point a gun right back. What I wanna know is, are you gonna help me figure this out? I have to warn you, Leonard, this is some crazy shit we’re messing with. I don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with, or why it’s so determined to make me quit investigating, but whatever it is, it’s angry, it’s dangerous, and - ”

“Fine, whatever, I’ll do it,” Len said, already bored. “Provided you don’t arrest me. If that thing starts coming at me and I shoot it, I’m expecting a get out of jail free card, West.”

“I’d prefer it if you got a confession first,” Joe said dryly, “but as long as you shoot it before it hurts Iris, then that’s fine by me.” He rubbed his eyes, adding, “Look, first order of business has gotta be making multiple copies of all the evidence pertaining to Nora’s case and putting them in a safe location. Can you talk to Barry? I know he’s been squirreling away evidence for years, but damned if I know where he keeps it all. Obviously the best place to start is gonna be the cork-board he keeps in the lab, but it’s a hot mess. Doesn’t make a lot of sense to anybody except him. And there’s a whole lot of stuff that wouldn’t fit on there - interview transcripts, tapes… crime scene photos. He’s got it all stashed away someplace, and we’re gonna need it.”

“I’ll talk to him,” said Len. “But I’ll need to go in slow. Barry - ”

The sound of the front door opening made them both jerk, Joe’s head swivelling guiltily towards the entranceway. Len, who knew a whole lot about how not to act suspiciously, lounged back further against the sofa and assumed a studiously bored expression. Laughter drifted in from the hallway, and Barry and Cisco stumbled into the room, pink-cheeked with cold and both beaming. Kicking him out had clearly worked wonders; he hadn't looked this perky in over a week.

“Len, hi! Sorry, I hope you don’t mind, I invited Cisco back to...the…” Barry trailed off in bewilderment, staring at Joe. “Uh. Joe? What are you doing here?”

“I got some paperwork on the Clay Parker case that still needs filling out,” Joe said. “If you can spare a couple of minutes.”

“I can, but… you came into the apartment? When I wasn’t around?”

“Leonard invited me in.”

“He did?”

“You did?” Cisco said, peering suspiciously at him. “Who are you and what have you done with Leonard Snart?”

“Don’t recall offering you the same invitation, Ramon,” Len said. “Watch your tone or get out.”

“Oh,” said Cisco. “My bad. It is you.”

“I won’t stay long,” promised Joe. “Just give me a couple of minutes and I’ll get out of your hair. It’s mostly a formality. Sign your name on the dotted line, all that jazz. Then I’ll be off.”

“No, you should stay for a while!” Barry said. “Cisco and I were gonna get a couple of drinks. Maybe watch a movie. Uh, if that’s okay with you,” he said awkwardly, glancing at Len.

“Knock yourself out.”

Moving across the room to kiss him on the cheek, Barry beamed and then headed into the kitchen, babbling about beers and movies and god knows what else. Cisco sat down on the couch, keeping a very healthy distance between himself and Len. In the pause that followed, Len gave Joe a look that told him they’d be continuing this discussion later on, and then rearranged his features into a neutral expression as Barry returned and collapsed beside him on the sofa in a tangle of gangly limbs, doling out drinks left right and centre.

“So what were you guys talking about?” Barry asked as he got settled. “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to spend more than five minutes alone together without arguing.”

“We,” Joe said, “were talking about…” 

“The Flash,” Len said smoothly.

Barry coughed, choking on his Pepsi. “The - the who now? Oh, right, the Flash, yeah. What about him?”

“Hate to tell you Barr, but we got another Iris on our hands,” Joe said. “Leonard here, he loves the Flash. Can’t get enough of the guy. He’s obsessed.”

“What can I say?” Len said. “I do love a guy in skintight leather.”

“Actually, it’s not leather, it’s a friction-resistant form-fitting fabric tripolymer,” said Cisco. Then he coughed. “Or, uh. So I’ve heard.”

Len rolled his eyes. “Whatever it is, it’s hot. The Flash has to be hiding a pretty smoking body under there. I’d tap that.” He gave Barry a sideways glance. “No offence.”

Barry looked perplexed. “I thought you hated the Flash. You said he was the scourge of the metahuman race.”

Joe and Cisco both turned to look at Len.

“Do I look like a metahuman to you?” said Len. “Take your morals off the table; I’m not saying I’d wanna be his BFF. All I’m saying is… I’d tap that.” He shrugged. “He’s gotta have a good set of legs from all that running. And an ass to die for. Ramon, back me up. He seems like your type.”

Cisco had flushed. “Red is uh… not my colour.”

“West?”

“Ugh,” said Joe.

“Yes, we know, you’re ruler straight and oozing with good moral fibre. Boring. But if you  _ were  _ gonna tap a guy, the Flash would be on your radar, right? You were singing his praises a minute ago.”

“Maybe we should change the subject,” Barry said, turning very pink.

Len gave Barry a nudge. "Back me up, Scarlet. The Flash. You'd hit that, right?”

"I don't think we should be objectifying the guy. I mean, he's a public figure, he's saved the city dozens of times, he deserves a little respect  -"

"Bullshit," Len scoffed. "Admit it. You'd climb that speedy red bastard like a tree."

"Do we really have to talk about this  _ now _ ? Joe's right there!"

"I think Joe already knows a fair amount about your sexual preferences, Barry. The evidence is sat right here." He steepled his fingers. "I'll change the subject when you admit you have the hots for the Flash."

"I..."

They all swivelled to look at Barry.

With great dignity, Barry said, "The Flash is an inspiration and his abilities are a greatly interesting phenomenon from a scientific perspective, but I'm not interested in him in a sexual context because… I haven't seen his face. I can't be attracted to a guy if I don't know what he looks like."

"Lies," Len said. "I'm attracted to him plenty. I'd hit that like a high speed train, I don't care what he looks like under that mask. He could keep it on for all I care. As long as he took off everything else.”

He cast his mind back to that one time where he'd gotten off on the image of the Flash at the end of that hallway... and a few more times since that. Never when Barry was around, obviously. That seemed somewhat disloyal. But Len was no saint and he figured a little harmless fantasy never hurt anybody. So if his mind tended to wander every now and then when he was on his own… well. The Flash had a fucking incredible body, from that one quick glimpse he'd caught. Like Barry, he was all long lean limbs, lithe and compact and tight all over... hm. Maybe he had a type.

"Jesus Christ, Snart," Joe said, side-eyeing him. "There are some things you should be keeping to yourself."

"Ah, get over yourself. You come into our apartment, you play by our rules. No prudes allowed. Isn't that right, Barr?"

Barry coughed. "Uh, yeah, well. Maybe a change of topic might be a good idea, or else I'm gonna have trouble looking any of the rest of you in the eye. More drinks?"

"Sounds good," Cisco said. "I'll go dig out a movie."

"You know where we keep 'em, right? Under the bed in Len's old room."

"Oh, yeah. ...You sure that place isn't booby trapped? Because I don't trust Leonard further than I can throw him, and I don't wanna lose a couple fingers over a DVD."

"That would be telling," Len said.

"You'll be fine, Cisco," Barry promised as he got to his feet. "And you? Behave." He leaned over to murmur in Len's ear, "You wanna tone it down a little? I really do  _ not _ want to talk about my sexual preferences with Joe, he's pretty much my father."

"Fine," said Len. "But for the record. if you ever decide to get yourself a red skin-tight suit,  then I for one would not mind in the slightest."

"Perve," Barry said, but he couldn't quite suppress a grin as he kissed Len on the cheek and headed off into the kitchen... leaving Len alone with Joe. Again.

"What in god's name was that all about, Snart?" Joe asked in a low voice.

"Well you see, Joseph, when two men love each other very much - "

"Cut the smart-mouth. You know damn well I don't wanna  _ know _ what you and Barry get up to in that bedroom of yours." Joe leaned forwards. "Why'd you say all that stuff about the Flash?"

"What? That he has a nice ass? That's because it's true."

"Five minutes ago you were hauling him over the coals. You thought he threatened Iris!"

"I thought we'd already established the fatal flaw in that theory.”

"Still. You’re pulling my leg, right? You don’t actually like the guy.”

"What is this, a sleepover? You wanna braid my hair and talk about boys?”

"I just wanna know where your head's at. Do you have a thing for the Flash, or not?"

"I 'have a thing' for any guy with legs like that who wants to run around this city showing off the goods," Len drawled. "I'm only human, after all. As for the rest... it's a little thing called subterfuge. You could stand to learn a thing or two about it. You said I liked the Flash, I ran with it. Problem?"

Joe looked at him suspiciously, but before he could argue further, Cisco popped up with an armful of DVDs and an excitable look on his face, and then Barry reappeared with more drinks, and Len was saved by the nerd-babble coming out of the younger men’s mouths. There was no chance at getting a word in edgeways; it was the least subtle subject change Len had ever come across, but he’d had his fun. He’d made everyone in the room appropriately uncomfortable, changed the subject and given himself some interesting ideas about new things to try in the bedroom to boot. He wondered if you could get a Flash suit to order.  _ That  _ would be an interesting fantasy to play out, if Barry was willing. And Barry was willing to try most things.

Satisfied, Len leaned back in his seat, put an arm around Barry’s shoulders and pulled the kid closer against him, resting his head on Barry’s shoulder. Beaming, Barry pressed his cheek against the top of Len’s head, and his hand rested lightly on Len’s thigh. Cisco didn’t react; Joe briefly made a face, but then went back to discussing the movie they’d picked as Barry flicked through the options on the menu screen. Other than that there was no reaction. Once upon a time he’d have been loath to let his guard down like this in front of other people, but in the comfort of their own home, with Barry tucked under his arm, Len’s walls were well and truly down. 

They were safe, Barry was happy, and all the issues they’d been having seemed to have finally resolved themselves. Cisco was carrying the conversation and amplifying Barry’s good mood, creating an infectiously happy glow that even Len wasn’t exempt from. Even West wasn’t as irritating as usual. 

Life, Len reflected, couldn’t possibly get any better.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sex mention!! it doesn't actually progress to full sex, but there is some oral. to avoid, stop reading at "or I could try a little something else that might cheer you up" and start again at "you sure you're up for this?"

Once again, Barry was late. He always seemed to be, these days. Not that his time-keeping hadn’t been abysmal before, but now that he had super speed he had even less of an incentive to get up on time. Why bother, when he could make up for lost time by zooming to work at six hundred miles per hour? 

When Len was at work and Barry had the apartment to himself, he could also make up for lost time by doing everything  _ else  _ at six hundred miles per hour, including eating, showering, and getting dressed. Unfortunately, a side-effect of Len taking all this time off was that getting out of bed had suddenly become far less appealing, considering there was an incredibly attractive man sharing it with him. He’d gotten into the unfortunate habit of groaning and flailing around until he managed to switch off his alarm, then collapsing back into bed with an arm and a leg flung over Len’s body, burying his face in the squishiest part of him that was readily available, and snoozing until either Len kicked him out, or Barry woke up filled with panic and covered in his own drool. 

Today Len had decided to get up when Barry’s alarm went off, and hauled him out of bed by the leg, but Barry was still miraculously late and was dashing around the apartment at an infuriatingly normal pace, toothbrush in one hand whilst he tried to fasten his shoelaces with the other hand. Neither task was going well. Len sat calmly at the kitchen table, clicking away at his laptop.

“That’s a good look for you,” he commented. “White foam. Very nice. At least, if ‘suffering from rabies’ is the look you’re going for.”

Barry spat his toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth with dignity. “You know, you could do something to help me rather than sitting there making fun of me.”

“I suppose I could get out the bike and give you a lift to work. Saves you paying for an Uber.”

“Yeah, I doubt it’ll help the whole lateness thing if Captain Singh has to send someone out to scrape me off the pavement before my shift starts,” Barry said. it was a sweet offer, really, but he’d get there faster under his own steam.

“Suit yourself,” said Len, clicking away as he raised his coffee mug to his mouth.

“What are you doing, anyway?” Barry asked curiously, sparing a few precious seconds to scoot around the kitchen table and peer over Len’s shoulder.

Len twitched reflexively, as if he’d been about to rapidly close all his tabs and then thought better of it. He looked loftily into the distance without making eye contact, and Barry couldn’t help but grin. There were four tabs open, all pertaining to the Flash. News articles, a Google image search, a conspiracy blog about how the Flash had got his powers (Barry gave it a quick skim-read at super speed and found it all laughably incorrect.) He laughed.

“You really have it bad for this guy, huh? And you teased me about Bigfoot.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Len said with a scowl. 

“You want me to buy you a scrapbook?” Barry teased. “Maybe a poster? We could hang it in the bedroom if you want, so you can make out with it before we go to sleep.”

“Quit your yapping and get to work,” Len said, but he was smirking slightly in spite of himself. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Singh’s gonna have my ass. I’d better go.” He dropped a kiss onto the top of Len’s head. “I’ll text you later, okay? If you can tear yourself away from your Flash fan-blog for long enough.” He grinned.

“If you tell anyone about this - ”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Barry promised. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

As soon as he was a safe distance from the apartment, he started running. A goofy grin spread across his face as he did. Len liked the Flash. Liked him enough to sit around looking him up in his spare time. Maybe it was just an aesthetic attraction - and damn, Barry would have been mad as hell if he didn’t know damn well that Len was just salivating over  _ him  _ in tight tripolymer, but as it was, it was kind of cheering him up. Perhaps Len had changed his mind about the Flash being a bad guy. Maybe now he’d done a little research, he was starting to understand what he stood for. Saving people. Doing good. Even if he had to make some tough calls along the way.

For the past couple of days Barry had been wondering whether maybe he ought to reconsider telling Len about being the Flash. He’d talked to Caitlin, talked to Cisco… he’d gone back to the hospital before his dad was transferred back to Iron Heights, and spent a long time talking it out with Henry as well. All agreed that keeping the secret was going to cause trouble in the long run. And now he knew that Len was clearly interested enough in the Flash to trawl through conspiracies about his suit running on pirated Russian nanotechnology, or possibly fairydust. 

With that in mind, why wait any longer? Things between them were finally evening out, their arguments seemingly a thing of the past. Aside from the petty banter and bickering they’d always enjoyed, a little nagging here and there about washing up and dirty socks, and Len’s insistence on being an ass to Joe, things were perfect. He couldn’t think of a better time to finally come clean. Even the thought of it seemed to make him feel lighter. Running was a joy, even more so than usual. With a smile so broad it made his cheeks ache, Barry sped for the precinct in preparation for another great day. Even the sun shining merrily down on him seemed to echo his good mood.

He had to lose the smile pretty fast once he got to work, though. By some miracle he wasn’t late, but his first port of call that morning was a crime scene, and not a pretty one. Faced with a corpse charred beyond all recognition, resembling nothing so much as a barbecued pine cone, Barry got out his camera and took some snapshots, and pored over the crime scene with a fine tooth-comb to try and figure out what the hell was going on. Namely how a guy could have been electrocuted so severely that he crisped up and died, when there were no visible power sources in sight. Barry had his suspicions, but chose not to name them. The last thing they needed was widespread panic if news came to light about yet another bad metahuman terrorising the city.

Barry was just packing away his equipment when he chanced upon an opportunity to investigate something else that had been bugging him. Peeling off his gloves, he sidled over to Joe, who was staring at the body with folded arms.

“Pretty gruesome, even for us,” Joe remarked.

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure. What about?”

“When you came over to the apartment the other night... what exactly was all of that about?”

“Like I said, I had all that paperwork I needed you to do... some of us like to keep on top of that kind of thing.”

Barry thought unblushingly of his filing system, which mostly consisted of shoving piles of case notes wherever there was free space on his desk. “Yeah, but that wasn’t all of it. You and Len seemed to be having a pretty intense discussion before I showed up. What was that all about?”

“Just making conversation. I thought you wanted me to get along with your boyfriend.”

“So did I, but it’s a little weird seeing it actually happen.”

“Yeah, well I won’t be making a habit of it.”

Barry made a show of messing with the clasps on his forensics kit. “So, uh… that stuff about the Flash. Was that really what you were talking about?”

“Unfortunately,” said Joe. “Though I never would’ve brought it up if I knew he was going to take it that far. There are some things I could do without hearing, and that includes hearing Leonard Snart salivating over your body in any situation, Flash or no Flash. Which, by the way, is shady as hell, and I’m amazed you didn’t whoop his ass for that.”

A small grin started fighting its way onto Barry’s face. “Aw, come on. You gotta admit it’s kind of adorable that he’s crushing on me all over again without even realising it.”

“Adorable is not the word I’d have used,” Joe said grimly. “I was leaning towards ‘gross and creepy.’ And also ‘unfaithful’.”

“What? He’s not being unfaithful, he’s crushing on  _ me _ !”

“I know that. You know that. He doesn’t. Don’t act like it wouldn’t be making you mad as hell if he said that about anybody else.”

Barry hesitated. Admittedly, Joe had a point. But it didn’t matter in the long run, because he was going to tell Len about his speed later anyway. Maybe he’d make a big deal of it. Take him out for a meal, spoil him a little. They’d go for a walk or something, or head back home, and Barry would tell him. Then they could both have a laugh about it. In a way, Barry thought, the fact that Len had a thing for the Flash just proved how much he loved Barry. He was drawn to him subconsciously in all forms.

“Okay, so it’s a little messed up, but show me a single part of my life that isn’t. I just wanna make sure things are still okay, and honestly Joe, I don’t know if I can handle the thought of you and Len hanging out alone. That’s just too weird.”

“If you really want to know, we  _ were  _ talking about the Flash, but not in the same context. It was kind of in relation to your mom’s murder. Leonard seems to have filled in some of the blanks. I was trying to convince him that the Flash didn’t kill your mom, for obvious reasons - not that he knows about that - and then you and Cisco got back and it seemed like it would kind of kill the mood to bring all of that up. So we changed the subject. ...And now I’m a little scarred mentally. If Leonard’s gonna start talking about who he’s attracted to every time I come over, remind me to start bringing earplugs.”

“I’m sure that’s not gonna be a problem,” Barry said. “Anyway, if Len thinks the Flash is involved in my mom’s murder, that’s probably my fault. I was so focused on trying to get him and Iris to steer away from all that stuff that I probably gave him the wrong impression. Don’t worry about it. I have a plan to fix all of this.”

Joe frowned. “Do I even wanna know?”

“You probably don’t wanna know the details,” said Barry, who was thinking distractedly about the best way to show off his powers to Len. He thought that giving him a hands-on demonstration of the perks of vibrating fingers would be an excellent starting point. “Let’s just say I’m gonna be a little more… open with Len in the future.”

“I’m gonna pray to god that that innuendo was unintentional and leave it at that,” Joe said, grimacing. “I’ll see you back at the precinct. I’m gonna try and find some witnesses, see if we can piece together a few accounts of what happened here. Not that I have a lot of hope.”

“Well I’m gonna do my thing back at the lab,” Barry said, patting his case. “Get some of these samples analysed. I’ll see you later, alright?”

It was kind of the truth. He did take the samples to the lab...just not the one Joe would have been expecting. 

There were plenty of tests Barry could have run, but he was rapidly learning that it was way more fun to take it all to S.T.A.R Labs and hae them help him out. Firstly, since they didn’t have many projects of their own to work on aside from him - and he’d kind of been neglecting the whole scientific research aspect of their deal, lately - they were always happy to have something to do. Secondly, it was way more fun to have someone to discuss his work with. Barry didn’t really get along with the other CSIs; there was a reason he had his own lab. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried, but he just didn’t gel with them. He was too nerdy, too excitable, too disorganised. He tended to babble at the wrong times, or rub people up the wrong way without even realising. It was easier for everyone if he just left the rest of his department alone, which meant that he could often get lonely holed up in his own lab with no one to bounce ideas off. 

At S.T.A.R Labs, though, he got on pretty well with everybody. He, Cisco and Caitlin were kind of like the Golden Trio from Harry Potter; they just clicked. Even Doctor Wells was good company, now that Barry had stopped being so intimidated by him and started to get to know him as a person. Aside from Iris, Barry hadn’t really had a lot of friends over the course of his life. It was nice to have someone to run to.

He arrived at the lab in record time and doled out his crime scene photos, remembering with a small smile that Eddie had questioned why he would want to take any at all. Of course, he couldn’t really say out loud that he was going to be showing the pictures around, that was strictly against protocol and the kind of thing liable to get him sacked, but whatever. Nobody needed to know. 

"Can you run some kind of facial recognition software on this?" Barry asked as he handed Cisco the clearest of the pictures he’d taken at the crime scene.   
  
"Absolutely," said Cisco. Then he saw the photo. "Ew. That is some nasty shit. He looks like a dried up version of that blob monster from the live action _ Scooby Doo _ ."   
  
"Focus, Cisco," Doctor Wells admonished.    


"Yes sir. Sorry, Doctor Wells." Cisco bent his head over the computer.  
  
"You think we're gonna be able to identify anyone from this?" Barry asked, looking worriedly at the charred body on the photograph. It had seemed feasible at the time, but in retrospect he wasn't so sure. "It sure is a mess."  
  
"Trust me, this software was designed for this. We'll get some kind of an image. How recognisable it'll be remains to be seen."  
  
"We can only remain optimistic. It must have taken an incredible amount of electrostatic discharge to do this much damage," mused Wells, poring over one of the pictures.  
  
"Can we hurry things up a little?" Barry asked. "I don't wanna be rude, but there's somewhere I gotta be, so..."  
  
"Something that takes priority over a murder investigation?" Caitlin asked.  
  
"Technically it's a homicide. But uh, yeah, actually." Barry found himself grinning foolishly. "I, uh. I decided I'm gonna tell Len about me being The Flash."  
Surprised, Cisco looked up. "Oh man! Nice! But I thought you decided you weren't going to say anything after what he said the other night."  
  
"I did at first. But I thought about it, and... I don't wanna lie to him any more. It isn't fair on either of us. And I think if I talk to him I can make him understand why I do what I do, and that I'm helping people. That's important to me. Len and I love each other. He's the one person I shouldn't have to hide from. So I'm gonna take him out for dinner, and I'm gonna tell him."  
  
"That's great, Barry!" Caitlin said.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Mr. Allen?”

Barry blinked at Doctor Wells, hurt. “Of course I do. I love Len, I know he’ll support me.”

“As I understood it, he’s said some pretty hurtful things about the Flash on numerous occasions.”

“Len likes the Flash,” Barry said. “He and Iris have been doing all sorts of research on him. Len’s always on his computer looking him up, bookmarking all the new articles and everything, he’s super into it. He tries to be subtle,” he said fondly. “He erases his search history and everything, it’s super cute, actually, he’s kind of embarrassed about it - but this will fix things between us, Doctor Wells, I can feel it. Things have been kind of tense lately, what with me being so busy and Len’s job and everything, so if I can finally explain to him why I’ve been acting so weird all of a sudden, it’ll make such a huge difference!”

“I’m just not certain about the wisdom of disclosing your secret to too many people. This is a fragile operation we have going on here. The last thing any of us needs is to have our cover blown.”

“Doctor Wells, I would trust Len with my life. I love him. He would never betray me. He’d never turn his back on me, no matter what.”

“The innermost thoughts of those we love are often the most alien to us,” said Doctor Wells. “Sometimes the people we care about can be hardest to understand… I don’t want you to get distracted, Barry. The work we’re doing here - the work we  _ should  _ be doing - is of the utmost importance. We can’t have you getting distracted by some… lover’s tiff.”

Barry flushed. “I know it’s important, I do. I know you think I’m not taking this seriously but I promise you, I know what my accelerated healing means to the scientific community. To the  _ world.  _ But keeping things from Len is only making things more difficult. I’m wasting time and energy on deception, when I should just be able to come out and say, ‘Hey, honey, I might be late for dinner because I have to stop a metahuman from crushing the city!’ Or, ‘I’ll be hanging out at S.T.A.R Labs tonight because I have superhuman abilities that we need to extrapolate to rid the world of disease!’ No more hiding. I hate lying to him.” He folded his arms. “I’m going to tell him. Tonight.”   


He and Doctor Wells looked steadily at each other for a few moments. Barry refused to drop his gaze. In the background, Cisco and Caitlin hovered uneasily.  
  
Eventually, Doctor Wells said, "It is, of course, completely your decision, Mr. Allen. You can disclose your identity to whomever you wish. I only wish to ensure you don't make any hasty decisions."   
  
"I've thought a lot about this," Barry said. "Len loves me. I know he'll support me. And if I don't tell him, he's going to find out, and it'll be better coming from me."    
Doctor Wells opened his mouth, but Cisco broke the tension by saying, "Boom, baby!"   
  
"You got something?" Barry asked, hurrying back towards the computers.    
  
"I ran the reconstruction through the database and according to this, there is an eighty-two percent probability that your corpse's name was Casey Donohue. Worked at the Petersburg Electrical Substation."    
  
"Only eighty-two?" Barry said skeptically.    
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, but you gave us _ that _ ," Cisco said, pointing at the photo of the marred corpse, "and nothing else to go on. Eighty-two percent is a whole lot better than zero, pal."   


Grinning, Barry held his hands up in defeat.   


"That's weird," Caitlin said, frowning. "I have the records for the substation up right now, and someone just used his ID card to access the system." She drew in a sharp breath.   
"And they're experiencing a massive power drain right this second, someone's siphoning off the power."    
  
"I'm on it," Barry said, and he dived into the alcove, threw on his suit and ran.    


For now, Len would just have to wait.   
  
He burst into the substation in a shower of sparks and was confronted by a rather disconcerting sight. There was a man standing with his hands plunged into the grid, his whole body pulsing with a painfully bright - and somewhat unhealthy looking - light. The man was sparking even more than Barry did, with an alarming crackle.    


"Pretty sure this is a restricted area, pal," Barry called.   


The man spun around, his lip curling like an animal's. Taking a step back, Barry stared at him in dismay. His eyes were blackened around the edges, surrounded by a mass of inky veins seeping down his face. The whites of his eyes looked disconcertingly pale in comparison. Hissing, the man pulled his hands free of the machinery, flexing his fingers.    


"Okay, I think you'd better come with me."   
  
"I must feed," the man hissed.    
  
"...Creepy," Barry said.    
  
"I have to feed!" he snarled, and he lunged, flinging a bolt of electricity Barry's way.    


Barry blurred out of harm's way, but the ferocity of the attack startled him, making him stagger back.   


"Easy, Sparky!"   
  
"I have to _ feed _ !" the metahuman bellowed, and he sent another blast in Barry's direction.   


This time Barry didn't manage to dodge it completely. It snagged him even as he lunged out of the way, and a sudden surge of speed crackled through him unbidden, followed by a flood of weakness. Yelling in shock, Barry stumbled and went to his knees.   


He was on his feet again in seconds with Cisco and Caitlin yammering in his ear. Barry was too busy trying to avoid the metahuman’s attacks, suddenly afraid. Whatever the hell that sudden rush of weakness had been, he wanted to keep the hell away from it.   


"More," the metahuman was saying. "More, I need more -"   


"Barry, what's happening?" demanded Doctor Wells.   


Barry realised very rapidly that this fight was not going at all how he'd intended. Time to get the hell outta dodge and come up with a back-up plan. He was on his feet and shooting for the exit and then the metahuman bellowed and lunged and this time his attack caught Barry full-on, and he  _ screamed _ .   


His whole body went rigid, muscles seizing up. He was frozen, pain searing through him, the speedforce crackling frantically through his body. Trying to throw off the attack, he vibrated desperately, flung himself against the force holding him in place, strained with every fibre of his being to break free, but there was no escaping that inexorable hold. There was a tearing sensation, slow but steady, something being taken from him. Like a plaster being slowly ripped free, taking layers of skin and hair with it. Barry fought like a trapped animal, feeling that awful creeping weakness seeping through him like rot. He gave one last futile wrench against his bonds and then the metahuman gave a grunt and Barry slammed to the floor, all the breath going out of him.  
  
For a moment all he could do was lie gasping in the aftermath. The feeling was awful, a violation. As though something important had been taken from him. Closing his eyes, Barry forced himself up on shaky legs. His whole body trembled.    
  
_ Run,  _ he thought.

He staggered a few steps, tried to tap into his speed. Nothing. He gave a stuttering start like a car with a dodgy engine, lurched forwards and then tripped over his own feet at a shockingly ordinary pace. 

He started to feel incredibly sick all of a sudden.

Behind him, the metahuman was still crashing around, but Barry couldn’t focus. Splaying his fingers out, he tried to vibrate his hand. It shook, but with nothing more than adrenaline and dread. Gritting his teeth, Barry tried harder. There wasn’t even a single tremor in response.

“Barry, what are you doing?” demanded Doctor Wells. “Get out of there, now!”

“I can’t,” Barry said. “I can’t, I - ”

Panic began to set in. Without his speed, he was just a skinny CSI in a stupid suit who’d gotten in way over his head. Fear was sneaking insidious claws around his ribcage, digging in, making him cold and clammy. 

“Barry, run!”

He did. 

It was embarrassing. Pathetic, even. He ran as fast as he could go and was mortified by how slowly he moved, how he hardly seemed to  _ go  _ anywhere in spite of his exertion. The backs of his calves burned, his lungs contracted, and he had barely gone a few feet. But what other choice did he have?

Eventually he ended up crouching behind some massive industrial waste dumpsters, his heart hammering. The metahuman didn’t pursue him. Of course, he didn’t have to - he’d already taken away everything that made Barry a worthy opponent. 

Burying his face in his gloved hands, Barry turned and slid down to the ground, his back pressed up against the dumpster, legs splayed out in front of him. What a  _ mess. _

There was a crackle from the comms that made him jump out of his skin. “Barry!”

“I’m here, Cisco,” Barry said wearily.

“What happened? We were getting some really weird readings - what are you still doing there? Why aren’t you running?”

“I can’t, okay! The metahuman...whoever or whatever he was...he took my speed. It’s gone.”

There was a long, awful silence. Then, the comms whined in protest as all three scientists started speaking at once, their words jumbling together as they all jabbered questions at him in unison. The tone of Doctor Wells’ voice cut sharply through the noise, making Barry cringe, but his words were lost in the midst of Caitlin’s frantic questioning and Cisco babbling away and god, Barry wanted to bang his head against the fucking dumpster and  _ scream,  _ because this situation was nightmarish enough already and they were all yelling incomprehensibly and it wasn’t  _ his  _ fault, and he just wanted to lie down and curl up into a ball and squeeze his eyes shut until it all went away and they were still  _ yelling  _ at him - 

“Shut up!” exploded Barry. “I know, okay? I screwed up, I don’t know what the hell is going on  _ \- he took my speed _ ! So just - just  _ shut up,  _ just for a second!”

An icy silence followed. He could practically feel them glaring at him. Doctor Wells in particular had a magnificently withering stare he liked to break out on such occasions, and Barry didn’t even have to be in the room with him to know that it was being directed his way from all the way back at the lab. 

Shakily breathing out, Barry said, “I can’t deal with this right now, okay? I have to...I have to figure this out. I’m freaking out. I just need you to give me some time, just hold the questions until I get back to the lab, and then we can talk and figure out what the hell’s going on. All right? Just… give me some space.”

With a trembling hand, he switched off the comms and severed the connection between them. Even doing that made him sigh with relief in response to the sudden peacefulness he felt. Having them all babble at him like that had only made him feel ten times more panicky. Now that he was on his own, he could work on keeping a cool head. One thing he’d learnt from Len was that there was a certain unparalleled efficiency that came from just shutting the hell up and getting on with what you were doing. Having everyone at S.T.A.R Labs panic just as badly as he was, really wasn’t helping the situation. 

He needed to think.

After giving the area a quick scan, checking for security cameras, Barry pulled his cowl down and ran a hand through his hair. He took a couple more gulps of air, and felt surprisingly better for it. Cisco would be pissed at him for switching his comms off; it was like the cardinal rule that he wasn’t supposed to break contact during a mission for  _ anything,  _ but Barry was certain that all the huffy silence and folded arms would be worth it for the brief moment of clarity. The eye of the storm, before he willingly went and plunged himself back into the maelstrom of questions and accusations and endless tests he would doubtless be subjected to… unless his speed came back in the interim.

Hopefully, Barry held his hand out in front of him and tried to vibrate it. The result was pretty much just jazz hands, with no super-speed involved whatsoever. Sighing, he closed his fist and lowered it. Well, it had been a long shot anyway.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent sat on his ass behind the dumpster, but his ass was numb by the time he got to his feet. He was calm enough now that he thought he could go back without yelling and smashing things. The question was, how was he going to get back into the city? What had taken him a handful of seconds of running would be a good hour or so to walk, maybe more. And in this fucking outfit, too. Groaning at the very thought, Barry pulled the cowl back up. Great. 

It came to him very quickly; what did ordinary people do when they wanted to get somewhere that was too far to walk to? What had he done, before he got his speed? He’d call an Uber. It was such a laughably simple solution that he couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him immediately. Rolling his eyes, Barry went to delve into his pocket to check whether he had enough in his wallet to pay for an Uber from all the way out here, and instantly discovered two rather large snags in his plan: firstly, the Flash suit didn’t have pockets, meaning that his wallet was all the way back at the lab and he didn’t have enough cash on him to pay even the most lenient Uber driver… and secondly, he didn’t have his phone on him to call an Uber in the first place.

Barry spewed a list of utterly filthy expletives and kicked the dumpster repeatedly until his foot screamed with pain so intense that he was forced to stop. Walking suddenly became even less appealing. He buried his face in his hands again and tried to sternly remind himself that he might also have lost his accelerated healing and therefore injuring himself during ridiculous tantrums was an even more terrible idea than usual.

Eventually, he pinched the bridge of his nose, took another deep breath and reactivated his comms.

“...Cisco?”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “I’m sorry. Cisco’s not here right now; he’s switched off his comms. Oh wait, no he hasn’t. That’s  _ you  _ who does that. Which, by the way -  _ rude. _ ” There was a sulky pause. Eventually, Cisco said, “So now what? Did your speed come back?”

“No, Cisco,” Barry said wearily. “It didn’t come back.”

“Okay, so what’s happening?”

Barry had to fight very hard to swallow his pride. If it weren’t for his throbbing foot, he might have said ‘fuck it’ and just started walking. But sometimes, you just had to take your lumps. 

Karma, he reflected, was a truly terrible thing.

“Cisco,” he said.

“Uh-huh?”

“...Could you call me an Uber?”

 

~*~

 

The atmosphere at S.T.A.R Labs was not a pleasant one. Barry sat hunched up on a reclining chair, knees drawn up to his chest, wearing sweatpants and the baggiest S.T.A.R Labs sweater he’d managed to lay his hands on. He was sulking. Cisco was pacing up and down the room wringing his hands; he’d made Barry recount his metahuman encounter three times in a row, darkly declared it to be ‘just like that one scene in  _ The Amazing Spider-Man 2’,  _ and had since gone very quiet aside from occasional outbursts of confusion and a whole lot of frowning. 

Caitlin seemed to have taken Barry’s predicament as a personal insult; she’d run every test on the sun and then a few more - blood tests, urine samples, x-rays, five different kinds of body-scan, poked and prodded him and shone lights into his eyes and even forced him to run a couple of miles on the treadmill, which made Barry burn all over with shame. Going from a four-second mile to a twelve-minute one was nothing short of mortifying. He kept his head down and watched the numbers sluggishly slip by on the display of the treadmill, never getting above about five miles per hour. As Cisco kindly pointed out, he was running slowly even by normal standards. Now, Barry sat curled up on a chair in the cortex and stared at the floor, with a rapidly growing numbness creeping through his body. This couldn’t be his reality. He couldn’t bear it. 

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Caitlin said furiously. “Your speed can’t just be  _ gone. _ ”

“It is,” Barry said emptily. 

“But it can’t be. It’s a part of you! It’s in your DNA! The dark matter transformed your entire genetic make-up when the lightning struck you, you can’t  _ untransform  _ DNA! It’s impossible.”

“Clearly it isn’t,” Barry said. “You think I’m messing with you, Caitlin? I don’t have my speed! I don’t know how he took it, but somehow he took that from me, the only thing I’ve ever had that I could have used to help people! Nothing I’ve ever done has been good enough before I was the Flash. And now it’s gone!”

He couldn’t look at Doctor Wells. Only that morning the man had reminded him of the importance of Barry’s speed in the long-term - extrapolating cures from his genetics. Helping to cure diseases, reverse paralysis… he hadn’t just lost his speed. He’d also lost the one glimmering chance Doctor Wells had at ever being able to walk. Barry’s stomach churned unpleasantly.

“No,” said Caitlin. “It’s not possible. I don’t believe it. Whatever it is that’s happened to you, there must be some way to reverse it.”

“Like what? How are we supposed to reverse it when we don’t even know what he did?”

“I don’t know,” Caitlin said. “But I’m going to find out.”

“The most important thing,” Doctor Wells said, “is not to panic.”

Stricken, Barry looked up. “Doctor Wells, I - ”

Holding up a hand, Wells said, “We need to run more tests. Caitlin is right in saying that there is currently no scientific explanation for what happened to you. Our job is to find one.” Levelly, he looked Barry in the eyes. “We will fix this, Barry. Somehow, we will figure out a way to reunite you with your speed. But for now…all we can do is wait.”   
  


~*~

  
  
"So your speed is just...gone,” said Joe.

They were sat together at Barry’s desk in the crime lab. Joe had come in to discuss the homicide case, only to find Barry staring catatonically at the wall directly opposite his desk, unblinking and wallowing in a state of sickening dread. It had taken a moment for Barry to even register Joe’s presence, and even longer for him to force out an explanation. The very fact that his speed had been taken was bad enough. Vocalising it made him feel ten times worse.   
  
"Gone," confirmed Barry. "Zilch. Nada. Whatever that meta did to me, he siphoned off all of my speed. Don't know what he plans to do with it, if _ he _ even knows what he plans to do with it - but either way it's gone."   
  
He had to look away, then. Couldn't look Joe in the face and admit that everything that had made him special had been taken from him. He hadn't realised how painfully reliant he was on his speed until it was gone. It was embarrassing how slowly he moved without it; he felt positively geriatric, creeping through life like a snail. The wrongness of it made him cringe; it was as though something profoundly personal had been removed, as if the metahuman had pulled off his fingernails. Every second he moved was a painful reminder that this was him, now. Back to normal. The thought made him feel a little sick.    


How could he be expected to go back to the dull mundanity of everyday life after everything he'd had?    


"But you can fix it, right?" said Joe. "S.T.A.R Labs, they can work their mojo? Get it back?"   
  
"We don't know," Barry said tiredly. "We don't even know how he took my speed. It's a part of my biology, it shouldn't be possible to take it. It's in my DNA. S.T.A.R Labs are gonna look into it, but for now, I'm back to being just plain old Barry Allen." He couldn't keep the bitter edge out of his tone.    
  
"Sheesh," Joe muttered. "Guess that means no more Flash."    
"No more Flash," Barry said sourly. "And it couldn't have happened at a worse time. Tonight I was finally gonna tell Leonard about my speed and now it's gone." He furiously drained the last dregs of coffee out of his mug and slammed it down on the desk. Test tubes rattled.   


Joe made a face. Barry felt a twinge of irritation. Ordinarily he would have ignored it, but after everything that had happened today, he wasn't in the mood.   


"What? Let me guess; you don't think I should tell him either."   
  
"It isn't that, although god knows I wouldn't trust the bastard as far as I could throw him. Actually I think you should tell him. I don't like him, but he is your partner. It's a pretty huge thing to be keeping from someone you care about. If I didn't have to worry about keeping Iris out of it, I'd be asking you to tell _ her _ , if only to get her off my back." Joe sighed. "So yeah, I think you  _ should  _ tell Leonard. But I don't think you're going to."   
  
"Why would you say that?"    
  
"Barry. You've been umming and ahhing about telling him for ages. If you were serious about it you'd have done it by now. And we both know Leonard doesn't exactly have the greatest opinion of the Flash, unless we’re talking aesthetically. Aside from the fact that he has a massive crush on him - which I still think is kind of disturbing, by the way - he still thinks the Flash is involved in your mom’s murder."    
  
"That'll change once I tell him," Barry said stubbornly. "When I explain it to him, he'll understand. To an outsider, yeah, maybe the Flash doesn't always look so great, but there are reasons I do what I do. I can get through to him, I know I can."    
  
Joe raised his eyebrows. "Well, you've got conviction, I'll give you that. It's more than you had a couple of days ago. But might I suggest that you focus on getting your speed back before you tell him, or else you might end up looking like a little bit of a lunatic." Then he lunged across the table and knocked Barry's mug off the side, sending it crashing to the ground.    


Barry gave an aborted lurch forwards several seconds too late. The mug lay in shards on the floor like a battered corpse, dregs of coffee seeping out around it. The oozing liquid made the broken mug seem uncannily like it was bleeding.   


With a wounded sound, Barry looked up at Joe and demanded, "Why did you do that?"   
  
"You didn't catch it."    
  
"I told you I don't have my speed, Joe! You thought I was joking about that?"    
  
"I thought maybe instinct would kick in and jump-start it," Joe said, eyeing the broken mug. "Guess not. Huh."    
  
"I loved that mug!" Barry said. "Len got me that mug."    
  
"He can buy you another one. Thought he was living it up with that fancy job of his. I'm sure he can afford to replace a mug."    


Barry stared forlornly at the bits of mug. Not a particularly distinctive design, but it had been sturdy, held a decent amount of coffee and had been a shade he fondly liked to consider 'Flash-suit red'. It had been the only piece of work-appropriate homeware he owned, since Len found it amusing to buy him mugs bearing mildly offensive slogans or images and watch Barry struggle to hide them whenever guests came over. His second favourite mug was somewhat less suitable for a professional environment. Somehow he didn't think Captain Singh would be too impressed if Barry turned up at work one day toting a mug which bore the cheery announcement "I ♡ ANAL!" in block capitals.

“Jeez, Barr, lighten up a little,” said Joe. “You look like I just ran over your puppy. It’s just a mug.”

Barry did not deign that statement with a response. Perhaps Joe realised what a ridiculous thing he’d just said and that the broken mug was, in fact, merely the icing on the putrefied, rotting cake that was Barry’s day, but he coughed and got to his feet.

“I’m gonna go make some enquiries about this Donohue guy, see what else we can find out. Maybe check out the power station.”

“I’m going home,” Barry said. “I’m on an early finish.” And for once he wouldn’t be stopping off at S.T.A.R Labs after work. He was useless to them now, anyway. 

Joe clapped him on the shoulder. “Look, just, uh...try to think positive. I mean, at least you get some time off from all this superhero work. Right?”

Barry attempted a smile which turned out more like a grimace. Awkwardly, Joe backed away and left him to it.

Going home took an obscene amount of time. Firstly he had to organise all his paperwork, which took a good half hour. Then he had to clean up the broken mess of mug and coffee dregs on the floor, and  _ then  _ he had to pay an extortionate sum for an Uber back to the apartment, at which point he wanted nothing more than to crawl over the threshold, curl up on the doorstep and die. He managed to refrain from this course of action with some difficulty, instead dragging himself over the threshold and collapsing face down on the couch with his face smushed against a pillow.

For a moment he lay perfectly still, his breathing muffled into the upholstery. Then he gave a very long, very loud groan.

A gentle hand came to rest between his shoulder-blades. “Good day, I take it?” Len said amusedly.

Barry grumbled incoherently. 

“That great, huh?”

Another grumble. Len sat down on the end of the sofa, rubbing Barry’s back.

“Come on, out with it. What’d you do this time? You smear dog shit on another family heirloom? Did you trip and fall face first into a rotting corpse? Ooh, maybe you forgot someone’s birthday. That’s always an awkward one.”

With a considerable amount of effort, Barry lifted his head up high enough to say, “I broke the mug you got me.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” Len said. “I’ll buy you five.”

With a whumph, Barry shoved his face back into the pillow. 

“Tough crowd,” commented Len. “Hm. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“I was gonna buy  _ you  _ dinner,” Barry mumbled into the sofa cushions. “But now I’m too sad.”

“Shame. We could have a funeral if it makes you feel better. We’ll mourn the loss of a brave and noble mug. It did its civic duty. Many cups of coffee were served within its ceramic embrace. We can only do our utmost to honour its memory.”

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” Len ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of Barry’s neck. “Come on. Get up.”

“No.”

“Barry.”

Suddenly, Barry was perilously close to tears. Seconds ago he’d been attempting to joke about the stupid mug, but he was suddenly reminded of everything it represented. The loss of his powers. No more Flash. No more saving the world. He closed his eyes, felt the pillow growing damp and said nothing.

“Barry, look at me.”

Without looking up, Barry shook his head.

“Come on. Get your face out of that damn pillow. It’s my turn to do the laundry and I don’t wanna have to handle a throw pillow with snot all over it.”

“Not snotty,” Barry mumbled. “Not crying.”

“Prove it.”

Slowly, Barry resurfaced. Len took one look at his red eyes and blotchy face, and pursed his lips disapprovingly.

“Okay,” Barry said, trying valiantly to hang on to the remaining scraps of his dignity. “Maybe I’m crying a little bit.”

Then the dam broke and it all came out in a huge, hiccuping sob. 

For a moment Len scooted reflexively back, but then he took a deep breath, lay down on the couch and scooted over until there was enough space for him to squeeze on. He pulled Barry against him. Barry buried his face in Len’s chest and let out all the shuddering sobs that had been building within him since he left the power station, and Len stayed quiet and stroked his back until it had all worked its way out of Barry’s system and he was left a soggy, red-eyed husk. Leaning away, Barry wiped clumsily at his eyes - and nose, which was totally gross, but whatever - and then managed a watery smile.

“All this over a mug,” Len said lightly. 

Barry managed a laugh. 

Len rubbed his thumb against Barry’s cheekbone. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not at all, actually. I just wanna forget that today ever happened. I wanna be with you. But we might have to take a rain check on dinner.”

“Whatever you want,” agreed Len. “How about a movie? I’ll break open a couple of beers… or you can have soda, whatever. I’ll unplug the phone. No more friends and family coming over, no bullshit. Just you and me.”

“Movie sounds good.” He wondered whether it was just his speed that had been taken from him, or whether his accelerated metabolism had gone too. Getting blind drunk seemed like a hell of an appealing situation right about then. Maybe not the best idea, but Barry Allen and good ideas rarely seemed to go hand in hand.

“Or…” said Len.

“Or?”

“Or I could try a little something else that might cheer you up,” Len said. “Got some tricks up my sleeve.”

His hand wandered suggestively down Barry’s front, sneaking down to the front of his jeans. He pressed his palm against Barry’s crotch and squeezed.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Barry said. Then, a little embarrassed, “You’re really still attracted to me when I’m like this?”

“Always.” Len squeezed a little more firmly. “Besides, I’ve been a little wound up all afternoon. Got to thinking about my favourite CSI… guess my mind started to wander.”

Barry leaned in to kiss him, nudging his lips lightly against Len’s. It was a tender kiss, sweet amd unhurried. The kind of kiss that reminded him of just how much Len loved him. He felt a rush of warmth begin to build in his chest.

“Your favourite CSI, huh?” He kissed Len again. “And there was me thinking you didn’t like cops.”

“There’s always an exception.” 

Len started sliding down the sofa, and Barry scrambled back, leaning his back against the arm of the sofa to give Len room to  manoeuvre. Careful fingers popped open the button on his jeans, slid down the zipper with a buttery rasp. Barry shivered and lay back, lifting his hips so that Len could slide his jeans down and discard them. He tossed them onto the floor, grabbed Barry’s ankle and kissed his calf, his mouth cool on the gentle swell of Barry’s calf muscles. Muscles he might not have for much longer. Closing his eyes, Barry tried not to let himself think about that.

Easing Barry’s underwear off, Len cast those aside too and then moved in closer, giving Barry a sultry look before he moved down to kiss him somewhere considerably more intimate. With a shudder, Barry closed his eyes, rested his hands on Len’s shoulders and tried to tune out all the thoughts buzzing around inside his head as Len took him into his mouth.

After a minute or so, Len paused, pulled back a little and said, “You still good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m - ” Barry waved a hand. “I’m fine, keep going.”

Len nodded and went back to it, licking around the head, tonguing over Barry’s slit. Barry felt his body go lax, his hand resting against Len’s cheek. But a minute or so later, Len sat back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

“Yes,” Barry insisted, his cheeks burning. “Yeah, I’m - it’s good, feels amazing, you don’t have to - ”

“No offence, Barry, but right now this feels a little like trying to play pool with a rope.”

Barry flushed. He’d been valiantly trying to act like everything was normal and just focus on the way Len’s mouth felt, but there was no denying the incontestable fact that in spite of Len’s best efforts, he was about as hard as a strand of cooked spaghetti. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Len asked, looking at him skeptically. “Because if you’d rather just watch a movie - ”

“No, I do, I just - I don’t know, I guess I’m not in the right headspace right now. Maybe - maybe it’s doing it on the couch that’s bothering me.”

Len snorted. “And exactly how many times would you estimate we’ve had sex on this sofa? Because I’d warrant a guess that it’s rather a lot. Upward of fifty, at the least. It’s never been an issue before.”

Mortified, Barry pulled a cushion from behind himself and used it to cover himself. It was dumb; Len  _ lived  _ with him, he knew what Barry looked like naked even outside of a sexual context and he’d seen him soft hundreds of times before, but in this situation it suddenly seemed painfully embarrassing. Of course there  _ had  _ been times in the past when he couldn’t get it up, but nothing recent. Mostly back in college, when he’d been drunk. Or the odd time when he’d been really exhausted, or going through depressed periods, or every now and then when he truly just wasn’t in the mood. But not recently, not since he’d become the Flash. It was like he was insatiable, constantly on the very edge of arousal, especially if he hadn’t had a chance to get off that day - which he hadn’t. The worst part of it was that mentally, he was raring to go. A blowjob sounded like a wonderful distraction from a shitty day, especially since he was going to finally get a chance to let go without panicking over whether he’d start vibrating or crackling with lightning and give himself away. And even though he wasn’t hard, it still felt  _ good,  _ having Len’s mouth on him. It was just his stupid body not cooperating. Frustrated, Barry clenched his fists around the cushion. Then a horrible thought occurred to him: what if the speedforce had fucked up his sex drive? What if he couldn’t get it up without it? Was he doomed to a sexless life  _ and  _ no speed?

Len misinterpreted the appalled look on his face. “It’s not an issue, Scarlet. Happens to the best of us.” He gave his mouth another careful wipe on the back of his hand, then settled back into a more comfortable position. “You’re hardly the first guy who’s ever had trouble getting it up.”

“I can’t have erectile dysfunction,” Barry said. “I’m twenty-five!”

“Don’t be so overdramatic. You don’t have erectile dysfunction. I’m sure this is a temporary issue. I’m actually kind of relieved; for a while back there I was starting to wonder if you had some kind of sex addiction. Your dick isn’t an inexhaustible resource. Sometimes it needs to take a little time out.”

“But  _ now _ ?” Barry said. After all those infuriating times when he’d had to blur into the bathrooms to jerk off at work, got horny at S.T.A.R Labs, got horny when Len was tired after a day at work and wasn’t in the mood… he’d even gotten horny in the  _ Flash suit  _ before now _ ,  _ from nothing more than endorphins and an unexpected breeze, and that suit was fucking revealing, okay, you could see  _ everything.  _ Cisco always gave him a look that was half kicked-puppy, half disgust, and Barry couldn’t look him in the eye knowing that he’d popped a boner in Cisco’s pride and joy. So sure, all of those inconvenient times his dick was happy to misbehave, but now he was  _ supposed  _ to be getting horny and he couldn’t pitch a tent? Fucking typical.

“Don’t sweat it,” Len said. “Like I said, it happens.”

“Not to me,” Barry muttered.

“Like I said, you probably wore it out. All those weeks of non-stop sex have taken a toll on you.” Len squeezed his hand, then sighed and got to his feet. “We’ll do this another night. Put your pants back on. I’ll go grab a movie. You in the mood for  _ Back To The Future,  _ or  _ Fast and Furious? _ ”

Barry looked at Len, who was definitely  _ not  _ having any difficulty getting it up. His jeans were straining very blatantly over his cock. “I can take care of that for you.”

“It’s fine,” Len said. “It’ll go down itself. Which movie?”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Pick a movie, Scarlet.”

“The movie can wait,” Barry said, sliding off the couch and onto his knees.

He had Len’s jeans unfastened and was about to slip his hand down inside Len’s underwear when Len caught his wrists.

“Barry. Not right now, okay?”

“But…” Barry looked confusedly at Len’s crotch. “Just because I can’t, doesn’t mean I don’t want you to feel good.”

“I wouldn’t feel right about it,” Len said. “Call me sentimental, but I’m still a little concerned your head’s not in the game. Until I can be one hundred percent sure you’re actually down for this, I’d rather not take any chances.” He pulled Barry gently to his feet. “Besides, we’ve got all evening. If things…  _ perk up  _ later on, I’ll be more than happy to oblige. But right now, seems like a movie is the safest option.”

As if losing his speed wasn’t bad enough. Sex had been one of the few things in his life that he’d been good at  _ without  _ superpowers. He hadn’t needed to be lightning fast to make Len come - all he’d needed to be was himself. To use the same skills he’d always had, that carefully cultivated knowledge of Len’s body put to use to make him feel incredible, a physical expression of how much he cared for him. Now he couldn’t even do that. 

Barry’s thoughts went back to the fractured mug on the floor and he suddenly had to fight past the lump in his throat. 

“We’ll go with  _ Fast and Furious _ ,” Len said. “I know you have a thing for Paul Walker.”

“Okay,” Barry said, and he reached for his underwear without making eye contact.

Len put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Scarlet. It’ll come back to you. Just give it time.”

“Patience was never my strong point.”

“I know.” Len smiled, and his hand slid off Barry’s shoulder. He headed for the spare bedroom where they kept the DVDs, calling over his shoulder, “Trust me, patience ain’t my strong suit either. But good things come to those who wait. You only gotta look at the two of us to realise that.”

“Yeah,” Barry said quietly, slowly slipping back into his underwear. “At least there’s that.”

For the first time since the attack had occurred, he was suddenly glad he hadn’t had the chance to tell Len about his powers. At least there was still someone who, he could be sure, didn’t love him just because he was the Flash. Len had never known him as the scarlet speedster, had only ever seen the goofy, clumsy, obsessive, slightly geeky guy he was at home. Len, at least, wasn’t going to think any less of him.

“Lenny?” he called, his voice sounding tinny and pathetic in the sudden quiet of the room.

Len poked his head back around the doorframe. “Hm?”

“...I love you,” said Barry.

A smile broke across Len’s face. Small and private, just for him. “Love you, too, Barr. Sit tight. I won’t keep you waiting long.”

And with that he disappeared. Barry drew his legs up to his chest and rested his chin against his knees, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if trying to hold himself together. In spite of Len’s assurance, he didn’t feel much better.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick note - a few people mentioned that they struggled to find the last update. it was a draft chapter that i posted a few weeks after uploading and it didn't show up for some people, so have a quick check you didn't miss the last chapter before you read on <3

Barry was acting weird.

This wasn’t unusual in itself; Barry’s behaviour was often weird. But there was usual weird - the good, cheerful, hyperactive weird, where he chattered nineteen to the dozen and regaled Len with rambling stories about his day and never seemed able to stand still - and then there was this new brand of weird. A strange, sullen kind. He was withdrawn and suspiciously quiet. And then there was the blowjob incident, which wasn’t unduly concerning in itself, but the kid seemed to be taking it to heart. Len could have understood that - it could be embarrassing not being able to get hard - but it was only a one-off and yet days later, he still seemed to be stuck in a funk.

Len headed up the steps to the precinct, head kept low. Sneaking into the CCPD was becoming a habit for him, these days. So far he’d always been lucky and no one had risen the alarm, but he tended to come prepared just in case. He’d dressed most unlike himself in a pressed grey suit and tie, and sunglasses. He’d also let his stubble grow in a little, skipping his morning shave. It was the little things, the small details that people tended to overlook, that could be key to a good disguise.

Really, it was a testament to the complete laughable inadequacy of cops that not one of them had realised their CSI was dating a felon.

Barry wasn’t at the CCPD; that was precisely why Len had decided to stop by. He wanted to have a look for some of those hidden case files on Nora Allen’s murder. If he could make some progress on the case, however small, that would surely bring a smile to Barry’s face.

“Hey, you!” called a voice from behind him.

He turned, keeping his expression studiously blank. Iris bounded up the steps behind him, beaming. She paused for a moment, faltering as she took in his attire.

“Well, someone’s looking sharp this afternoon! What’s the occasion?”

“Taking Barry out for dinner,” Len lied smoothly. “Thought I’d make it a surprise. He’s been a little down these past couple days. And he keeps saying how much he likes me in a suit.”

“It’s a good look,” said Iris. “Although I’m not so sure about this.” She gestured at his facial fuzz.

“Just trying it out for size. What brings you to this esteemed establishment?”

They started walking again. Len fell into step at her side. Walking in with a cop’s daughter was good. Made his presence less questionable.

“I came to meet Eddie. He got tied up, something to do with a guy they had in custody who tried to make trouble. Bit of a whackjob, apparently. Keeps making quips about time. That’s gotta get annoying.”

“Everyone’s got a gimmick now,” Len said, as if he didn’t have at least twelve different cold puns up his sleeve at any given moment.

“Don’t I know it.” They stepped into the reception area. “So what’s going on with Barry? I saw him before he left last night, but he didn’t really say much. He just looked like someone kicked his puppy.”

“Damned if I know. You know how he gets. Might just be one of his moods, but I figured dinner might help snap him out of it. There are many ways to Barry’s heart, but so far his stomach seems to be the most direct route.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Iris said, holding open the door for him to step through. “I use a similar trick with Eddie. Food and sex. Works like a charm ninety percent of the time.”

“Sounds great,” Len said dryly as he entered the precinct. “Clearly you’ve got it all worked out.”

Cops swarmed around the precinct like wasps. He was getting more used to sneaking in and out of the CCPD now, but it never made him feel any less uneasy. It made him feel like Daniel, not only stepping into the lion’s den but shoving his head into the lion’s mouth and letting its teeth settle against the back of his neck.

At the same time, it was one hell of a rush, knowing that he’d swanned in and out too many times to count and never been clocked. The trick, Len had learned, was to act like you owned the place. Eye contact and an authoritative walk was better than any fake ID.

Iris followed him into the building, still chattering away, but Len’s phone started buzzing in his pocket. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said.

Waving him away, Iris spotted her dad and ambled over, waving. Len answered the call.

“What is it, Mick?”  

“We need to talk.”

“That is the traditional function of a telephone.”

“Shut up,” Mick snapped. “It’s about a job.”

“A job,” Len drawled. “Remind me what that has to do with me? I gathered from our last conversation that our partnership was… terminated.”

“I never terminated shit.”

“You gave me an ultimatum. You know I don’t take well to being threatened.”

“All I did was remind you where your priorities used to lie. Was just wondering when that punk CSI started to mean more to you than the job.”

“You mean when did he start mattering to me more than you do,” Len said. “Jealous?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You told me to stick with him,” Len snarled down the phone. “Or did you forget that?”

“You’re right. What I _didn’t_ tell you to do was get obsessed with some skinny superhero and turn your back on your partner.”

“I never turned my back on you, Mick, I just made a little room for… other priorities.”

“Yeah, well it’s about time you shifted some of them around. You wanna hear about this job or not?”

Len glanced around the precinct. Cops swarming everywhere. This was probably the worst time and place he could possibly have been having this conversation.

“Fine,” he said. “But not right now.”

“You got somethin’ better to do?”

“It’s not a good time.”

“Why? You with your boyfriend?”

Len didn’t much like his tone. “I’m surrounded,” he said, lowering his voice. “This building has more pigs than a farmyard.”

“...You got yourself arrested?”

“Don’t insult me.I’m here on business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Family business,” Len said irritably. Since when had Mick started questioning his every move? Once upon a time all he’d had to do was point the guy at whoever he wanted punched in the face, and Mick would do it, no questions asked.

There was some kind of commotion going on on the other side of the room. Some guy in a ridiculous getup was mouthing off to the cops, wearing a pair of very steampunk-esque goggles on top of his head. Six months ago he wouldn’t have known steampunk if he fell over it, but thanks to Barry, Len was a minefield of useless information these days.

“I gotta go,” he said. “Things are heating up around here. I’ll call you back.”

He hung up, switched his phone off for good measure and slid it into the breast pocket of his suit. Then he started heading towards the stairwell, heading towards Joe and Iris. If he could tip Joe off as to what he was really doing there, the guy might help him out… if not, he’d probably just point out, like an asshole, that Barry wasn’t around, well and truly blowing Len’s cover. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

He was almost level with Joe and Iris when the lights went out. No preamble, not even a flicker - just like flipping a switch. The room was plunged into darkness. Len stilled, narrowing his eyes.

There was a crash from the other side of the room. Len whipped around; Goggles had somehow gotten out of his cuffs, taking advantage of the sudden darkness. He lashed out, throwing one of the cops into his colleague, causing them both to stagger to the ground. Then the man kicked the third cop to the ground; his head crashed off the edge of the desk as he fell, and as he hit the ground, Goggles made a grab for the holster at his waist, yanking the gun free.

Len lunged at Iris, slamming into the side of her and knocking her to the ground. They hit the floor hard, pain shooting up his side as the first shots rang out like thunderclaps. Iris screamed and started struggling, but Len kept her pinned to the ground as the gunman kept shooting.

Pandemonium reigned. More shots were fired as the cops attempted to retaliate. A stampede of people rushed for the doors. Iris fought to follow, but Len grimly held her down as alarms screamed and bullets continued to fly like hailstones.

Another final shot rang out and then there was silence. The pause that followed struck Len as more dangerous than the gunshot. Then, footsteps. Leisurely, slowly coming their way. He could feel the man standing over him, and fought the urge to look up.

“Well, well, well. What have we here? A happy couple?”

Len kept his mouth shut, right up until he felt the barrel of the gun resting almost lovingly against the top of his head. He went numb, his body flooding with adrenaline, screaming at him to try and disarm his attacker. Carefully, he lifted his head.

“It’s rude to ignore your elders,” Goggles said. “So. A couple?”

“Not exactly,” Len ground out.

“Hmm. I suppose you are a little out of her age range.”The man took a step back - just a small one, not enough to give Len room to manoeuvre. “Get up.”

Len obeyed and pulled Iris to her feet as he did so. She stayed close to him, her jaw clenched, but she looked the gunman in the eye as she did. Brave. Stupid. Len couldn’t criticise; he was doing exactly the same thing, and struggling not to make a quip that would likely get his brains blown out. He loathed this. The wrongness of the situation made his skin crawl; he wasn’t used to being on this side of a gun, and it rankled. He should at least have had a weapon of his own to even the playing field.

The man reached out, trailing his fingers down Iris’ cheek. She cringed, turning her face away. “Pretty,” he remarked. “But not in uniform. Gotta be a wife - or a daughter. Am I right?” He turned, glancing over Iris’ shoulder. “Ah. _Your_ daughter, detective. You have very similar bone structure. The resemblance is striking.”

“Let her go,” Joe said.

The fear in his voice was sharp as a knife. The man smiled slyly. “Oh, I don’t think I will. In fact, I think I’ll be keeping you as a set for the time being.” His gaze shifted back to Len. “There are cuffs in all the desk drawers in this building. You have precisely six minutes and seven seconds in which to restrain everyone else in this room, or I’ll start shooting. Starting with your… companion.”

Len didn’t move.

“I would strongly advise,” the man said, “that you don’t waste my time. The clock’s ticking.”

“Do it,” Joe said.

Len glanced across at him.

“Snart. Do _not_ let that man shoot my daughter.”

It went against every one of Len’s instincts, but he obeyed. Mechanically, he crossed the room, taking cuffs out of every drawer, gathering the links in his fist until he clinked with every step. His fingers caressed the contents of the drawers, brimming over with the personal effects of half a dozen cops. Goggles was watching him. Amateur. He shouldn’t be taking his eyes off the hostages.

His attention was divided, though, and Len was nothing if not an opportunist. He dipped his fingers inside the last drawer, pulling out a few more pairs of cuffs… and slipped one of the keys up into his sleeve. Basic sleight of hand; he’d been doing it since he was a kid, but it still made his chest constrict as he pulled his hand out of the drawer and closed it. This was not his kind of risk.

He moved around the room, securing people’s wrists behind their backs. He didn’t make eye-contact as he restrained them...until he got to Joe and Iris. Iris’ hands were sweaty. But it was Joe who Len was really focused on. Joe wasn’t even looking his way, too focused on the gunman, who was still aiming at Iris...but as Len snapped the cuffs closed around his wrists, he pressed the key into Joe’s palm.

Joe’s eyes flickered to Len’s for a split second. That was the only acknowledgement he got before he backed off, already clicking one of the cuffs closed around his own wrist. He sank down to the floor, hands already behind his back, one arm free.

Goggles smiled at him again. He reminded Len of one of those salespeople who lingered on street corners, ready to move in for the kill. “Both wrists, Mr. Snart.”

Grinding his teeth, Len snapped the other cuff shut.

As soon as he had restrained himself, Goggles’ smile widened. He revolved slowly around; under his instructions, Len had pulled all of the hostages into a clumsy circle, and the man stood in the centre, making eye contact with all of them. His gaze made Len feel unclean, like he’d been groped with dirty fingers. He kept his revulsion under wraps, but some of it had to have shown on his face. Unperturbed, the man continued to eye his captives.

“So what now?” Len demanded.

“Now? Now we wait.”

“For what?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so keen to hurry things along if I were you. For all you know, I could be getting ready to shoot you.”

“If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it by now.”

“I won’t hesitate to kill any of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He glanced over his shoulder at the two cops he’d incapacitated. The first, whose gun he’d taken, lay prone on the ground, face down. The head injury had almost certainly been fatal; he hadn’t stirred this whole time. Beside him, his colleague had fallen victim to the first of the shots Goggles had fired, and lay in a spreading pool of his own blood. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Len said. “But if you were going to kill us for the fun of it, you wouldn’t have wasted your time. We’re your bargaining chip. So what is it you want?”

“So many questions. I think you may be getting ideas above your station, Mr. Snart. Best as I can tell, you’re just a bystander. If anyone in this room should be interrogating me right now, it’s the good detective over here. What do you say, Detective?”

“You’re William Tockman, right?” asked Joe. “You’re on transfer from Starling City. They call you the Clock King?”

“Regrettably. As alter egos go, it’s hardly what I’d have chosen, but…” Tockman shrugged. “I’m learning to live with it.”

“Okay, so what is it you want?” Joe asked. “Snart’s right. If you wanted us dead, you’d have killed all of us by now.”

“What do I want?” Tockman grinned mirthlessly. “Nothing that’s in your power to grant me, Detective.”

“Not in my power. But you do want something.”

“Everyone wants something. Right now, I want your Captain to start the negotiation process.” Tockman glanced up at the clock on the wall. “It should be any second now. For your sake, I’d hope he doesn’t take too long. Time is of the essence.”

The sound of a ringing phone pierced the silence. All of the other hostages flinched. Tockman turned with a pleased sound, and Len immediately turned to Joe. The detective wasn’t looking at him, though - he was staring straight past him, eyes wide. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. Len turned just in time to see a gleam of blond hair as Eddie Thawne ducked out of sight behind one of the desks.

Len’s heart beat faster. Thawne was biding his time, evidently. If it had been Len, he’d already have taken a headshot and put a stop to this mess. Fucking do-gooders. He forced himself to look away and made eye contact with Iris instead. She was breathing hard, but holding onto her composure somehow. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod.

Tockman was on the phone, laying out his terms like a businessman. Listing his assets - eleven hostages, including two civilians - and setting out clear time constraints. Len had to admire his efficiency. He didn’t demand a helicopter; he asked for it calmly, as though it were a perfectly reasonable request. Len admired that kind of ruthlessness in a man; if Tockman hadn’t held him at gunpoint, Len might have offered him the same deal he’d offered Baez. Unfortunately, he tended to hold grudges against people who threatened him.

Tockman banged the phone down.

“Well?” said Joe.

“My helicopter will be arriving shortly,” Tockman said. “So long as Captain Singh complies with my demands, none of you have anything to fear.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Len asked.

Tockman smiled, his eyes glittering in the gloom. “Well. Perhaps I’ll allow you to take a vote as to who I shoot first. Unless anyone would like to volunteer.”

“If I were you, I’d volunteer myself,” said Iris. Heads swivelled towards her; she lifted her chin higher. “When the Flash gets here, you’re gonna wish you had.”

“The Flash? I’m not unduly concerned about the possibility of that, my dear. As I come to understand it, he’s not the most meticulous timekeeper.”

“He has a knack for last-minute rescues.”

“Well,” Tockman said. “Your faith is inspiring. But unwarranted, I fear. If the Flash is such a hero, then why isn’t he here?”

“He will be.”

Tockman smiled indulgently before turning away from her. Len continued to watch Iris. It wasn’t for show, he realised. She genuinely believed the Flash would show up. Personally, Len had his doubts. Relying on some do-gooder in red spandex didn’t bode well in any situation. If anyone was going to come to their rescue, it was Eddie Thawne. He was still lurking in the room somewhere, biding his time. Len wished he’d hurry the fuck up. The cuffs were starting to chafe.

The only good thing about this situation, he reflected, was that Barry had for once in his life managed to stay out of trouble rather than tripping headlong into it. Wherever the fuck he was, it had to be better than being stuck in here.

 

~*~

 

“Come on, Lenny, pick up,” Barry murmured, frustrated.

He gripped his phone tighter. Nobody was answering him. Len’s phone was switched off, Joe and Iris weren’t responding, and he couldn’t seem to get through to anyone at the precinct; all the lines were engaged. It was making him anxious. And that was even without taking into account that there was a furious metahuman wreaking havoc just outside the lab, bellowing for Doctor Wells, and Barry _still_ didn’t have his powers back.

Cisco and Caitlin had been working on trying to restore his powers, but they hadn’t made any progress. Then, to top it all off, the metahuman showed up. Somehow he’d made his way to S.T.A.R Labs, and without his speed Barry had no idea whether they were going to make it out.

His father’s warning rang in his head. _You’re not invulnerable, Barry._

Len’s phone went to voicemail again; there was no message, not even the standard network message; just a low beep, and then nothing. Barry bit down hard on his lower lip. He almost hung up again… but at the last minute, his finger stilled.

“Hey, honey,” he said. “Um. I can’t get in contact, your phone’s switched off, so… I hope everything’s okay. Things are kind of crazy right now, what with this huge power outage and everything. I’m still at the lab, trying to sort things out. I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay, and - and I’ll see you soon.” He swallowed. “I love you.”

He hung up before he said anything else, hands shaking. Then he called Captain Singh. He doubted the cops would fare any better against the meta than Barry had, but it was better than sitting and waiting to die.

“Not now, Allen,” Singh said when he answered.

Barry blinked. Singh had always been kind of brusque, but even for him that was a little excessive. “Captain, what’s going on? I can’t get through to anybody, Joe’s not answering his phone, nobody’s picking up at the station - ”

“We’ve got a hostage situation at the precinct,” Singh said. He paused. “...Joe and Iris are still inside.”

Barry’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“We have the situation under control.”

“Under control? It’s a _hostage situation_ , how does control come into it?”

“We’re complying with Tockman’s demands,” Singh said. “I promise you, Barry, we will get them out.” The sound of sirens screaming on the end of the line made Barry flinch. “I have to go.”

“No, wait - ”

Singh hung up on him. Barry swore, tugging frenziedly at his hair.

“Barry, what’s going on?” Caitlin asked as she rushed into the room, Cisco and Doctor Wells in her wake.

“Joe and Iris are being held hostage at the precinct. I need my powers back _now._ ”

“I have a theory,” Doctor Wells said, coming forward. “It’s untested, I have no guarantees that - ”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, I have to try.”

Doctor Wells gave a sharp nod. “All of your test results came to the same conclusion; though you appear to have lost your speed and accelerated healing, there have been no changes to your physicality on a subatomic level. Your cells are still primed; they just need a jump-start.”

“Like a car battery,” Barry said. “Okay, so where are the jump-leads? How do we start me up?”

“We’d have to replicate the initial jolt to your system,” Wells said. “We’re looking at a peak current of at least 20 kiloamps, maybe more.”

“What? No!” Caitlin said. “Doctor Wells, that’s more than they gave people in the electric chair, it could _kill him_ \- ”

“I’ll do it,” Barry said.

“Barry!”

“There is a metahuman outside, Caitlin! He’ll kill all of us if he gets in here! And on top of that, Joe and Iris are at the precinct being held at gunpoint, I can’t just _sit here._ If there’s any chance I can save them, I have to take it.”

“The world needs Barry Allen!”

“Not as badly as it needs the Flash,” Barry said.

“Barry, _please -_ ”

“How do we give me a jump-start without the lightning?” Barry asked, looking at Doctor Wells. “Do you think if I let him shock me, maybe that might do it?”

“It’s dangerous, and we have no guarantee that he’d shock you with the necessary force,” Wells said. “We need to replicate this artificially. That way we have at least some modicum of control in case things go wrong.”

“The treadmill,” Cisco said. “If we reroute the current from the generator and feed it _through_ the treadmill, we should be able to reach the necessary voltage.”

“That’s ridiculous, it’ll never work,” Caitlin argued.

“That treadmill has been Cisco’d. It can take it. Trust me.”

“Barry, no.” Caitlin grabbed his arm. “You can’t.”

“We’re running out of time, Caitlin! Any minute now Farooq is going to burst through those doors, Joe and Iris are going to end up with a bullet in their heads and I can’t save any of you!”

“You don’t have to do this! You could just try talking to him! He’s a person, you can get through to him. Talk to him, try to understand what he’s going through. _Help him,_ Barry. You don’t have to be the Flash to do that.”

“Caitlin, if I thought I could reason with him, I would! It’s not his fault that he’s like this; god knows I could have turned out the same way - believe me, I know. But we don’t have time for that kind of risk.”

“Please, Barry!”

He hesitated. Caitlin had hold of his arm, and she was looking at him beseechingly. He couldn’t seem to pull himself away.

“It’s too dangerous,” Doctor Wells said. “This man is angry, he is volatile, his judgement is clouded. He will not be prepared to listen to reason. He has murdered people, and he will do the same to all of us. Some problems cannot be solved by talking; we need to restore your speed and do it now, or people will die.”

Barry looked into Caitlin’s eyes. They were wide and pleading, and such a deep brown. She had almost the exact same eye colour as Iris.

“Okay,” Barry said. “I’ll talk to him. Meta to meta.” He glanced at Cisco. “Get the treadmill ready. If this doesn’t work, we gotta go with plan B. Don’t hold back. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Cisco nodded and took off at a sprint, running to make the modifications to the generator. Doctor Wells sat seething, evidently dying to tell Barry precisely how much of an imbecile he was being. For once, Barry didn’t care. Caitlin squeezed his hand, and he gave her a tiny nod.

“Okay,” he said. “Time to see if all those childhood therapy sessions paid off.”

Squaring his shoulders, he went to go and meet his meta.

 

~*~

 

Tockman was getting fractious. He paced up and down the room, drumming his fingers on tabletops with his jaw set. Clearly things weren't moving as quickly as he'd have liked. Len could empathise; a meticulous timekeeper himself, he knew the importance of a ticking clock.There was nothing more infuriating than having a spanner thrown in the works of your perfectly timed plan by some incompetent asshole who couldn't keep up.

"So what's this all about, huh?" asked Joe. "This ain't gonna end well for you, you know that, right? If you turn yourself in now, the DA's office will take that into account. We might be able to swing you a shorter sentence. But the longer this goes on, the worse it's gonna be when you get caught. You're gonna be going away for a long time."  
Tockman laughed. "Oh, I don't think I will. My time is almost up." He smiled strangely. "So the DA's office will hear me out, hm? You suppose they'll be lenient, with two of your own lying dead on the floor? Just like they were lenient when I requested furlough to visit my dying sister?" Drawing closer, Tockman leaned down towards Joe and said almost in a whisper, "All I did, I did for her. To pay her medical bills. To give her another shot. And your precious DA's office wouldn't even give me leave to say goodbye to her. She's dead, detective, and she died alone, despite my best efforts. The DA's leniency is not a force I have particular faith in." He straightened and turned his back on Joe, whose face had turned ashen. 

Len's stomach churned. If Lisa were dying, no force on hell or earth would have kept him from her side, in prison or not. He'd have orchestrated a very nasty and public jail-break and been at her side for every last second of her numbered days.

Lisa would have kicked his ass for getting into this mess. He missed her. All of a sudden he was sickeningly aware of that.  
  
The phone rang, making all the other hostages flinch. Len held himself still. Tockman stalked over to the phone, snatched it up, and said, "I don't like to be kept waiting, Captain. I'm on a tight schedule."

A short pause. Tockman's jaw worked like he was chewing gum. 

"I'll make you a deal," he said. "You bring that helicopter around some time within the next four minutes and forty-seven seconds. A very generous time constraint, given all that you've already wasted. If I do not have my helicopter when your time is up, I will start shooting hostages. Sound reasonable?"

Another pause. The room was so still that Len thought he could faintly hear the frantic buzzing of Captain Singh's voice on the other end of the line, like a bluebottle frantically bumping against a pane of glass. Calmly, Tockman replaced the receiver without responding.

"If there's one thing I cannot abide," he said, "it's tardiness."

Len thought detachedly that it was a good job Barry wasn't here. "Tardy" might as well have been his middle name.

Sighing, Tockman moved closer to the centre of the room. Everyone cringed, aside from Len and Joe. Tockman made a tutting sound in the back of his throat - and then he stepped up behind Len and there was a horribly familiar click as the muzzle of his gun pressed against the back of Len's skull.

Every muscle in Len's body went into lockdown.

"We still have a few minutes," said Tockman. "If the Captain makes good time, perhaps I won't have to shoot you."  
  
"No," Joe said. "Tockman, you don't wanna do this - "   
  
"What I want," said Tockman, "is a clean getaway. I'm dying, detective. I have perhaps a handful of months left to my name. I do not choose to spend them rotting away in a prison cell. Timewasting only becomes more maddening when you're running out of it." The gun dug into the back of Len's head. "Three minutes fifty. Any last words?"   
  
"Don't kill him," Joe begged. "Tockman, I'm begging you - I'm a detective, take me, he's just a civilian - "   
  
"Precisely. You'll make far better leverage than some unfortunate civilian, detective. I make my choices carefully, don't worry."   
  
"Tockman, please - "   
  
"Aw, Joe," Len said. "I didn't know you cared."   
  
"Three minutes thirty," said Tockman. 

"No!" Iris cried. "Please, don't shoot him, please, just give the CCPD more time, they'll get your helicopter, they'll do whatever you want -"

She was starting to cry. Len was almost touched. 

His mind flicked rapidly through possibilities. He had a gun against his head. His hands were bound, and unless the Flash was cutting things _very_ close, no one was coming to save them. There was a small chance he could twist around and knock Tockman's legs out from underneath him, but with his hands secured he had little to no chance of disarming the man for more than a few seconds, and it was a better man than Len who could win a fight with his hands behind his back. He'd been twisting and tangling the cuffs ever since he'd put them on; his wrists burned where the metal was cutting in, but he wasn't making any progress. He couldn't get loose.   
  
Tockman had no patience for smooth talking. There was no way out.

It took him all of a second to establish this. Once he had, he employed the only other defence he had available to him. He shut down. His emotions were balloons straining towards the sky, fighting to get free. He cut the strings, detaching his feelings one by one. Fear. _Snip_ . Panic. _Snip._ Regret. _Snip._ And he kept breathing steadily in and out, pushing all of the last vestiges of his panic away. None of it would serve him in this situation. Survival instincts were only useful if you had any chance of surviving.  
  
It was almost ironic, really. After everything he'd been through - being beaten by his father, almost dying in juvy, countless bar fights or scuffles for turf, being shot on dozens of occasions, being arrested, picking fights with the Flash - this was where it ended. On the floor of a police station with a gun to his head, simply because he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was almost amusing. 

"I'm a reasonable man," said Tockman. "Do you want to die on your knees, or would you prefer to stand?"  
  
"I'll stand," Len said. Slowly, he got to his feet. 

Iris was still screaming, pleading, crying in earnest now. She actually cared, Len thought. Surprising. She cared about him, not just because of Barry, but because of Len himself.

Pain flared in Len's chest, then. He gritted his teeth, tried to quench it, but it was too late. _Barry._

This would crush him. Len had no doubt about that. He thought he'd relinquished his regret, but it suddenly started burning in his chest. He hadn't had a chance to say goodbye.

That would have suited Len just fine - he didn't do farewells; they were far too messy - but he knew it would torment the kid. He never had a chance to say goodbye to his mom, either. Or his dad, before they took him to jail.   
  
That morning, Len hadn't even kissed him goodbye. He'd been winding the kid up, trying to get a rise out of him. Barry was as limp as a leaf of lettuce, picking miserably at his cereal. Len had made a couple of jibes, bantering away as they always did, and got no response. He'd left it at that, at a loss at what else to do. He wasn’t good at the emotional stuff; Barry seemed to disagree, but he never felt less awkward trying to get all touchy feely. Resorting to sarcasm was his default. He could have made up for it later - now he wouldn’t get the chance. 

He couldn't let the last thing he said to Barry be a joke about erectile dysfunction.

"Iris," he said.  
  
"No," Iris said, thrashing against her bonds. "No, don't, let him go, don't shoot him - "   
  
"Iris."   
  
"Leonard, it's okay, the Flash is gonna come, he's gonna save us, he's gonna  -"   
  
" _Iris_ ," Len said sharply. 

She froze, her eyes wide.

He took a deep breath. "...Tell Barry..."  
  
The words stuck in his throat. He still wasn't used to saying them. Three short, single syllables, and yet they always seemed to stick. Even around Barry, he sometimes struggled to force them out. To confess his feelings now to this roomful of strangers made him choke. He swallowed, hard. 

He could leave them unsaid. After all, Barry knew.

_No_ , thought Len. He still deserved to hear it. If he was going to die, what harm could it do to drop the act for just a second? If knowing that he had been Len's last thought would bring Barry some small comfort afterwards, even just for a second, then it was worth it. A reputation was of no use to a dead man.   
  
Taking a deep breath, he said, "Tell Barry I - " 

A shot rang out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY!! 
> 
> I promise I won't leave you hanging long, I'm not that evil... or am I?


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I wouldn't keep you waiting too long! ;) 
> 
> warning for sex mentions and a fade to black sex scene near the end of the chapter!

Talking to Farooq had been a _bad_ idea.

Even as Barry staggered back into the lab, he could recognise that. His shirt was singed, his whole body burned. The pain made his eyes water. Unfortunately, he was going to have to subject himself to more of it if they were going to have any chance of making it out.

He tried using his powers again in the hope that the shock might have given him the jump-start he needed, but he wasn’t that lucky. Caitlin half dragged him back into the building, frantically apologising. Barry just focused grimly on putting as much distance between them and Farooq as was metahumanly possible.

He wasn’t healing fast any more. Yet another painful disadvantage of losing his speed.

They burst back into the room to be greeted by a furious Doctor Wells and a jittery Cisco, who was shifting from foot to foot. Wells gave Barry a scathing look and said, “Done playing the diplomat, Mr. Allen?”

Barry grimaced, shifting his weight to try and take some of the pressure off his burning ribs. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m done.”

“We progress with the original plan, then. Barry, Caitlin - go to the treadmill. Cisco, go get the generator up and running. I’ll catch up to you.” He waved a hand at them. “Go!”

Barry and Caitlin took off, Caitlin tottering slightly in her heels and still making better time than Barry, who limped in her wake like a penguin with sore feet, clutching his side. His head was still spinning. The conversation with Farooq had gone about as badly as it could have - that poor bastard. His life as a meta had begun in the most traumatic way possible, inadvertently electrocuting his own friends when they tried to resuscitate him. The very thought made Barry feel sick. A part of him couldn’t blame the guy for attacking him, really.

“Where is he?” Barry demanded as they rushed into the room. The treadmill stood in the very centre, suddenly looking rather more daunting than it usually did. No sign of Farooq, but he couldn’t be far behind.

“Not here, and that’s the important thing,” Caitlin said, and she rushed over to the treadmill and started flipping switches. “Barricade the door!”

“Right - ”  
  
Barry grabbed an office chair and tried to hook it under the door handle like he’d seen in the movies. The wheels skittered and twiddled uselessly across the polished floor; shoving it away, he started trying to haul the desk over to the doorway instead. It was _heavy._ He kept fighting with it for another minute or so, sweating and grunting, and then Caitlin snapped his name and he hurried over.

“Is it ready?”

“It’s ready, but - ”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Barry demanded, stepping onto the machine and grabbing the sides. “Switch it on!”

“Barry - ”

“We have to do this _now,_ Caitlin! We tried things your way. Turn it on!”

Caitlin backed off, wide-eyed. “Barry, I can’t - this could kill you, and I can’t lose anyone else! I already lost my career, I lost my future, I lost _Ronnie._ I can’t lose you too.”

“Caitlin. You’re not gonna lose me. I know what I’m doing.” White-knuckled, Barry clutched the sides of the treadmill. “I trust Doctor Wells. Don’t you?”

“I trusted Doctor Wells with the particle accelerator and my fiance ended up _dead_!”

“And all of us are gonna wind up dead, and Joe and Iris too, if I don’t get my powers back! We’re running out of time! Switch it on, Caitlin, please! I can’t do this without you!”

Caitlin cried out in frustration, turning away from him, and Barry clung so tightly to the treadmill that his hands hurt - and then she was hurrying towards the controls, one hand covering her mouth, the other hovering over the button.

“If you die, Barry Allen, I am going to _kill you._ ”

Barry opened his mouth to make some weak joke about the rather large contradiction in that sentence, and then her hand slammed down on the button.

Heat razed through Barry’s body, scorching every cell. It felt like being thrust into a furnace; he howled and tensed as the electricity pulsed through him, a blinding white-hot agony. His fingers and toes were being squeezed in a vice; fire branded every inch of his skin. He lost his grip on the treadmill, flying backwards and slamming into the wall, all the breath knocked out of him on impact. Bright lights exploded behind his closed lids, and the pain of it was a _relief._ It was a good, bearable pain, one he could breathe through.

Groaning, Barry forced his eyes open. The fluorescent lights made the room turn a sickly shade as he squinted through blurry vision, trying to blink away the tears. He gasped and tried to push himself up on one elbow, every muscle shaking in protest.

“Oh, God, Barry,” Caitlin said, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, pulled out a little torch and started shining it in his eyes; groaning, Barry tried to bat her away. “Can you hear me? Are you experiencing any loss of sensation? Talk to me, goddamnit - ”

“Oh, that wasn’t fun,” Barry gasped, lifting up a hand. Focusing, he tried to vibrate.

Nothing. Just the faintest ghost of a quiver, the same as he’d had ever since Farooq attacked him the first time. His stomach churning, Barry dropped his hand.

“It didn’t work,” he said hollowly.

“Shit,” said Caitlin.

A loud slam made them both flinch. Someone was battering away at the door with the force of a wrecking ball; there were bellows, and a flash of light from under the doorway. Barry could smell burning. Grimly, Barry grabbed the handles of the cabinet behind him and clawed himself to a standing position. His legs shook violently, but he could stand. Just.

“Come on,” said Caitlin. “Let’s get out of here.”

She pulled him towards the back entrance, her grip on his sweaty hand the only thing keeping him grounded. His ears were ringing. The aftershocks of the electrocution were still coursing through his system like wildfire. Physical pain aside, he was numb. He’d thought that would be it. A few seconds of pain and then his speed would be back. But he’d endured the agony for nothing.

Caitlin hauled him around the corner, sprinting down the main corridor - and then a figure lurched at them from around the corner. Shrieking, Caitlin staggered back, colliding with Barry - and then the figure toppled, landing with a crack on the ground. They both stared down at the back of a blond head, a singed and shredded shirt, a pair of brawny arms and broad, shaking shoulders… and then Tony Woodward lifted his head, quivering with the effort.

Barry took a sharp step back, yanking Caitlin with him. His heart pounded. Christ, he’d barely bested Woodward last time, and that had been from a running start and with help from Iris _and_ Captain Cold. Even with his speed, it had been a close call. Without it, he had about as much chance of beating Woodward as he had of flying to the moon.

Woodward didn’t look to be in fighting shape, though. His clothes were burned, he had a blossoming bruise on one cheekbone, and his whole body trembled. Someone had _hurt_ him.

“ _Tony?_ ” Barry said, bewildered.

Woodward managed a small, twisted smile. “Guess you’re not the only one who was born to take a beating.” Shuddering, he pushed himself up slightly, then sank back down. “Run,” he croaked.

Barry dropped to his knees. “What happened, what - who did this to you?”

“ _Run,_ ” Woodward ground out, and then he gave one last frantic gasp and stilled.

Barry stared stupidly at him. Seeing the man who had bullied him relentlessly as a child laid out helplessly on the ground seemed profoundly wrong, like the whole world had been flipped upside down. Not just unconscious, he realised.

“...He’s dead,” he said, his voice cracking. He looked helplessly up at Caitlin. “...He’s dead, Caitlin.”

“And guess who’s next on my list,” came a snarling voice.

Barry’s head jerked and he fell over backwards, landing on his ass as he stared directly into the face of a furious Farooq Gibran.

He scrambled backwards, slipping in his panic, colliding with Caitlin’s legs. She screeched, and then there was the sound of snapping plastic and a metallic clunk, and Caitlin heaved a fire extinguisher at the metahuman’s head. It hit him in the side, making him stagger; Caitlin seized Barry’s forearm and yanked him backwards, and then he was on his feet and they were running around the corner, Caitlin’s fingernails biting into his bicep.

Farooq roared and there was a crackle as the charge running across his skin intensified. Then he set off in pursuit, barrelling down the hallway after them.

Barry and Caitlin burst through a set of double doors, dashing across one of the labs without looking back.

“Caitlin, I think we need a plan B!”

“I’ve got a plan: _run faster_.”

“Oh, no shit, Caitlin, I was just planning on taking a leisurely stroll while this maniac catches up to us,” panted Barry.

“We need to find the others,” Caitlin said as they rushed through the cortex and took a sharp left, veering down another side corridor. “Then we need to get the hell outta dodge before Farooq catches up and electrocutes all of us.”

“That,” Barry said, “sounds like a better plan to me.”

  


~*~

 

BANG!

The gun went off with a thunderous crack and Len dived forwards out of the way, recoiling from the sound. Everyone yelled in shock, and two more shots rang out like fireworks. Something wet spattered onto Len's cheek and he fought to roll over, making it onto his knees and trying to crawl away, hands still pinned behind his back. Then a deathly silence fell and the only sound was Iris screaming.

" _Eddie_ !" 

Len twisted his head. Eddie lay sprawled on his back, chest feebly rising and falling, in a rapidly growing pool of his own blood. Eddie's fingers fluttered as he groped for the gun he'd dropped, but Tockman stepped forwards and kicked it away, sending it shooting across the room.

Tockman stood panting, his jacket split open to display the leaking stuffing of a bulletproof vest. Eddie should have shot him in the head and been done with it. 

Len turned to look at Eddie again, collapsed on the ground. He almost laughed. A cop had taken a bullet for him. _Two_ bullets, even. It was almost too ironic for words. He had Eddie's blood on his face. Eddie’s glazed stare met his. A cop, but not just any cop. His friend. Strange to have those two things in conjunction. Once upon a time he never would have thought it possible. 

He hesitated, still on his knees. Iris was still sobbing, and Eddie was shaking all over. Len had another attempt at freeing himself, wrenching on his cuffs. Two short range shots, two gaping holes in Eddie's body; it wouldn't take him long to bleed out. They needed to apply some kind of pressure, he needed his hands free.   
  
"That should do it," Tockman said, looking dispassionately down at Eddie where he lay gasping on the floor. The detective had splayed a hand over one of his wounds and was weakly pressing down, his fingers turning red and sticky, but he was drifting out of consciousness. It wouldn't be enough. "Perhaps now the CCPD will take my demands a little more seriously."

“Eddie,” Iris said frantically. “Eddie, stay with me, please - keep your eyes on me, Eddie - you need to press down or you’re gonna bleed out - ” She shuffled forwards on her knees.

Tockman pointed his gun at her. “Stay where you are.”

“He needs medical attention! He’s going to die!”

“That _was_ rather the point of shooting him.”

Len started to get to his feet, and the gun was turned on him. He paused halfway up, leaning over in a crouch.

“You’ve already had one brush with death tonight, Mr. Snart. But for the grace of God, and the intervention of this charming detective, it would be you bleeding out on the floor right now. I wouldn’t suggest you tempt fate. My trigger finger might just… slip.”

Len sank back down to his knees.

“She’s right,” he said. “Unless someone puts pressure on that bullet wound, we’re gonna have ourselves one very dead detective. You got what you needed. Shots fired; the CCPD are gonna hurry themselves along and bring you your helicopter. This man doesn’t have to die for you to get what you want.”

“No,” Tockman mused, “but neither does he have to live.”

Head bowed, Len waited. Eddie’s blood was stiffening on his cheek. The room was silent aside from Eddie’s low, laboured breaths shuddering in and out.

Coming to a decision,Tockman moved forward, kneeling at Eddie’s side. He whipped off his tie and started to bind Eddie’s shoulder with precise, methodical movements. They all watched as Tockman secured the tourniquet - and then he dipped his fingers into the spreading pool of blood around Eddie’s body. Len curled his lip, repulsed - and then Tockman started drawing on Eddie’s face. No, not drawing. Writing. Neat numbers up and down; he checked his watch as he smeared the blood across Eddie’s forehead.

“Old army trick,” he explained as he worked. “It ensures that the medical crew know the exact time the tourniquet was applied.”

Wiping his bloody fingers off on Eddie’s jacket, Tockman got to his feet. As he did so, they heard the concussive beat of rotor blades coming from above. A monotonous whirr, getting louder all the time. Lights came searing through the windows, making them all squint, aside from Tockman in his bizarre goggles.

“Ah,” Tockman said, cocking his head. “Right on time.”

He strode straight through the centre of the circle, heading for the stairwell. Len didn’t dare relax, but he felt a twinge in his stomach as the knot there started to think about loosening. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but he could see the outskirts. Dared to think about stepping into the light.

And then Tockman grabbed Iris by the arm and dragged her to her feet.

“What the hell are you doing? Let her go!” Joe demanded.

“Oh, I think not. A helicopter is all well and good, but what’s to stop the CCPD from shooting it straight out of the sky once I’m off the helipad? I don’t think so. No, I think I’ll be taking this young lady along for the ride. My guest of honour.” Iris tried to wrench herself away; Tockman tutted and pressed the barrel of the gun against her head and everyone froze. “Now, now, young lady, don’t be shy. Perhaps I’ll take a leaf out of the DA’s book and let you off for good behaviour.” He grinned nastily. “Or not.”

“You let her go, you son of a bitch!” Joe said, fighting against his cuffs.

Len wrenched viciously at his handcuffs, trying to snap the chain. He twisted his left hand, curling his fingers inward - if he could slip one hand out of the cuff, he could free himself and go for Tockman, but his fingers were too blasted big, the metal biting icily into his wrist. Iris stared at him, wide-eyed - and then her gaze flickered frantically down to Eddie, her lips parting in a frightened ‘O’.

Tockman spun Iris around and uncuffed her; Len’s heart leapt, but the gun was still pressed against her temple. Tockman started to haul Iris towards the exit. Eddie twitched feebly on the floor, blood seeping through the tourniquet. The cuffs chafed, rubbing uncomfortably against Len’s skin. As soon as Tockman was round the corner and out of sight, he’d make a break for it. He clenched and unclenched his fingers.

“Wait!” Joe shouted, desperation making his voice crack.

Tockman paused halfway out of the room. Slowly, he turned to give Joe a questioning look.

“Let her say goodbye,” Joe pleaded. He looked from his daughter to his dying partner. “This man is her boyfriend. You and I both know he probably won’t make it out.” He swallowed. “Give her a chance to say goodbye. Like you wanted. Don’t take that chance from her like the DA’s office took it from you.”

Tockman’s expression didn’t change. The whole room held its breath. Len kept his eyes on Tockman, like a cornered mouse watching a cat approach. He could only hope the cat had lost interest. That he wouldn’t notice the bolt-hole only a few metres away.

When Tockman shoved Iris at Eddie, it was so unexpected that they all flinched. “You have thirty seconds,” he snarled as Iris stumbled and fell to her knees at Eddie’s side.

She leaned over him, her hair falling over his face, a shaking hand reaching to touch his cheek. Len gritted his teeth in sympathy, imagining the agony of that goodbye. A tear splashed onto Eddie’s face, making him flinch. Iris apologised, rubbing it away with her thumb. She kept her voice low, whispering tenderly. Len couldn’t catch the words - didn’t particularly want to. Watching this goodbye turned his stomach. His gaze flicked over to Tockman, who was watching them with an inscrutable expression. Iris leaned in to brush her lips against Eddie’s, and something spasmed across Tockman’s face, an emotion distorting his expression for a split second like a stone being skipped across the surface of a pond.

Eddie murmured something too faint to catch. Iris blinked, leaning backwards - and then Tockman stormed over and snatched at her arm. He gave a brutal yank, wrenching her off balance, away from Eddie.

“Time’s up. Move.”

Iris stumbled as he hauled her to her feet; she grabbed at Eddie’s leg for support, gripping his ankle for half a second before Tockman had her standing and was dragging her towards the exit. She kept struggling, turned back to exchange a desperate glance with her father, and then Tockman pulled her around the corner and out of sight.

There was a tinkling sound as Joe dropped the key. Swearing, he twisted around, trying to pick it back up.

Len shuffled over on his knees and twisted around, grabbing the key. His hand closed around it.

“You - ” said Joe. It was clear what he thought was going to happen. A cut and run. Len would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t considered it, but that wasn’t the plan today.

“Shut up and give me your hands.”

Eyes widening, Joe turned around. They moved back to back. Len closed his eyes, feeling it out as he slipped the key into the lock. The chains between the cuffs clinked. He twisted his wrist at a painful angle, teeth gritted - and then there was a heart-stopping snick and the cuffs fell away and sensation rushed back into Len’s wrists, sharp and stinging. Pins and needles rushed through his fingers. Tightening his grip on the key, he turned around and jammed it into the lock of Joe’s cuffs, unfastening them with a click. They got to their feet and he paused for just long enough to toss the key at one of the other cops, and then he and Joe sprinted for the stairwell.

“You got a plan, Snart?”

“Knock the bastard down, take his gun and shoot him before he shoots me,” Len said as they thundered up the stairs. “Three on one. I like those odds.”

“You’re gonna have to get in line; no one threatens my daughter and - ”

BANG!

They both stopped dead as the shot rang out, deafening in the combined space.

“ _IRIS!”_

Joe lunged forwards like a man possessed, and Len took off in pursuit. They flew up the stairs, and Len felt that creeping coldness come over him again as they rounded the corner, steeling himself to see Iris with a hole in her skull and those smart-ass brains leaking out onto the floor. Joe made a sound like he was being hauled face-down across a carpet of broken glass, and then they burst around the corner where Iris stood viciously kicking the howling Tockman, who had curled up like a hedgehog, rolling around and clutching his leg. Iris had a handgun trained on the man, and judging by the smears of blood on the floor, she wasn’t afraid to use it.

Tockman’s own gun lay abandoned a few feet away; Len lunged for it. It didn’t have the same reassuring weight as the cold gun, but he still felt better with it pressed into his palm. Advancing, panting, on Tockman, he aimed it at the Clock King’s head. Len hated being forced to lose his cool. It had been a long time since he’d broken a sweat in any context outside of sex or a high-speed chase. He should blow Tockman’s brains out right there and then.

Trouble was, it was immensely satisfying watching Iris kick the shit out of him.

“Baby, stop, stop! It’s okay, come on,” Joe said - although he made no move to stop her.

“Screw - you - asshole!” Iris said, kicking Tockman to punctuate each word.

“Okay, Iris,” Len said, moving forwards to nudge Tockman with his foot. The man flopped onto his back with a wheeze. One of the lenses of his goggles was cracked, and the knee of his pants was dark with blood. Not Eddie’s. “I got him.”

Breathlessly, Iris backed off. She flicked a few strands of sweaty hair off of her face, then said, “I had that.”

“I know,” Len said.

Panting, Iris fixed a venomous glare on Tockman’s face. Then she turned her back on him and launched herself into Joe’s arms. He clung to her, stroking her hair and murmuring platitudes, and then they backed out of Len’s line of sight and he gave Tockman his undivided attention. The man looked almost resignedly up at him, still flushed and sweating, hands clamped to his bleeding leg. Now he seemed far smaller. Pathetic.

“Iris,” said Len “maybe you should go downstairs. Your boyfriend’s bleeding out on the ground right now.”

“Eddie!” Iris said, and she took off down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“You should go too,” Len told Joe. “I can take it from here.”

“Remind me who’s the cop around here?” Joe said.

He went to his knees, wrenched Tockman’s arms behind his back and cuffed him with the same set of cuffs that had secured his own wrists mere minutes before. Len kept the gun trained between Tockman’s eyes. The cuffs snicked reassuringly closed; Len’s aim didn’t waver. Joe pulled Tockman to his feet, sweating and muttering to himself as his fingers convulsively opened and closed.

“I got eyes on him,” Len said. “I’ll handle it. Your partner’s waiting downstairs.”

“He’s in good hands. There’s gotta be an army of medics swarming around out there by now. Besides, it’s more than my job’s worth to leave a dangerous crook in the hands of a civilian… I’ll let you decide who’s who.” He gave a small smile. “Right now it’s pretty equal footing in my book. Least this guy never let me walk in on him seducing my son on the couch.”

Len wasn’t in the mood for banter right now. “He won’t go anywhere on my watch. Trust me.”

“Oh, I wish I could. But I know you, Snart. Too damn well. And I know exactly what happens if I leave you alone with him right now.” Joe drew level with him, so close that they almost touched. Together they regarded Tockman, side by side. “To tell the truth, there’s a part of me that wants to let you. You think I’m not thinking the same thing? He threatened my life. He threatened my daughter. He shot my partner. He would’ve shot _you_ \- which I may or may not have thanked him for; depends on how I was feeling.”

Len didn’t crack a smile. He was still staring into the uncracked lens of Tockman’s goggles, over his left eye. The barrel of the handgun was aimed directly into the centre of his forehead.

Joe lowered his voice. “It’d be so easy, wouldn’t it? I turn my back and walk away. I leave you two alone. Then… he makes a break for it. Tries to attack you. You shoot him in self-defence. Maybe there’s a struggle, maybe instinct kicks in, but either way he winds up dead and there’s no witness to disprove your story. You get payback, and all of us get to sleep a little easier knowing that the guy who took us hostage is already in the ground and won’t ever get to hurt us again. That about right?”

Len’s trigger finger twitched. Just one slip, and Tockman’s brains would be splattered across the wall just like Eddie Thawne’s blood was splattered across Len’s face.

“I get it,” Joe said quietly. “I do. But I can’t let you.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Both.” Joe took a deep breath. “It’s hard. And it sucks. But you can’t. The one thing that separates guys like this from me and you is that they would. Don’t be that person. Much as I hate to say it, you’re better than that.”

“Trust me,” Len said, taking a step closer to Tockman and pushing the gun right up against his forehead, “I’m not.”

“Snart,” Joe said warningly.

“You said it yourself. He shot Eddie. He abducted Iris. He threatened me. The world would be a far safer place without him in it.”

“That’s not up to us to decide.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Len snarled. “I’m the one with the gun. I’d say that makes it my decision. What do you think, Tick Tock?” He pressed the gun harder against Tockman’s forehead. “Not so chatty now.”

Tockman didn’t even flinch. Len wasn’t taking the whole ‘held at gunpoint’ thing personally - it was hardly the first time. But usually he felt that he had some modicum of control over the situation. It was that which Tockman had taken from him, and that smarted. To know that he’d been reduced to kneeling on the ground and saying his final goodbyes - that he’d _given in._ He never wanted to be in that position again. Most of all he wanted to even the scales. Tockman had made him feel fear - the first real, visceral fear he’d felt in a long time. Not that nervous, adrenaline-filled flutter he got when he faced up against the Flash, or when he was in a high-speed chase. More like the terror he’d gotten when those kids laid into him at juvy. Or the fear of seeing his father lay into Lisa for the first time and knowing it wouldn’t be the last. Not by a long shot.

Len’s face twitched with hatred. Tockman sneered right back at him. There was pain, resentment in spades, a whole heap of bitterness… but no fear. Of course not. Tockman was a ticking time bomb. He was dead anyway - it was only a matter of time.

“Put the gun down, Snart.”

_Do it,_ Tockman’s eyes seemed to say. _Do it now. I dare you._

Len wondered what exactly it was that was killing him. Whether it was painful.

“Leonard,” said Joe. “It’s over. Put the damn gun down.”

Once upon a time Len would have shot Joe too, and damn the consequences.

Tockman looked up at him with an arrogant gleam in his exposed eye. He knew Len wasn’t going to do it; it was written all over his face. Infuriated, Len tightened his grip on the gun…

Then, footsteps came thundering towards them like an avalanche. Boots pounding on the stairwell, shouts ringing through the corridor.

"CCPD! Put your hands in the air!"  
  
"We're up here!" Joe shouted.   
  
His chance to shoot Tockman was slipping like sand between his fingers. In less than five seconds this whole building would be swarming with cops and Len would be just another maniac with a gun who they'd be more than happy to take into custody. He almost thought it might be worth it - but then he looked into the face of Joe West and did something that Leonard Snart did not do very often. 

He hesitated.

Another shout drove him into action; Len thrust the gun into Joe's hands and took a step back just as cops started pouring into the small corridor with exclamations of shock. Joe was quick on the uptake; he aimed the gun at Tockman like he'd been doing it the whole time, and a couple of cops hurried forwards to take control, seizing Tockman's arms.

Captain Singh, a figure Len had only ever seen from a distance, came rushing over. "Joe - are you okay, are you injured?"  
  
“I’m fine, not a scratch on me,” Joe said, holstering the gun. “But Eddie - ”

“Don’t worry, we found him. The paramedics are with him right now.” He glanced around the room, eyeing the bloody smear Tockman’s leg had left on the floor. The two cops maneuvered Tockman to his feet, one supporting him whilst the other started to haul him away. “What the hell happened here? We heard the shots; we thought there’d been a massacre. How’d you overpower him?”

“I didn’t,” Joe said. “I have a very brave daughter.”

“Very brave and very lucky,” Singh said. “Although not quite so lucky as she usually is, by all accounts. Where’s the Flash when you need him, huh?”

Joe gave a very awkward smile. Singh shook his head, then blew out a very long, unsteady breath.

“Jesus. This is one hell of a mess. You sure nobody else got injured?”

“We lost two guys in the initial uproar, and obviously Eddie took a hit, but no one else. No civilians.”

“Well, thank heavens for small mercies,” said Singh, and then he turned to Leonard. “What about you, Mr…?” He frowned.

Len stood very still. This was the moment of truth. He’d never met Singh personally, although he’d walked past him a handful of times when he sneaked into the precinct, and they’d both attended Barry’s post-coma soiree. Len’s handful of criminal convictions shouldn’t have been high-profile enough to get him noticed by someone so high up in the ranks at the CCPD, but Singh was looking highly suspicious.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“There’s blood all over you.”

“I got caught in the crossfire when Detective Thawne got shot. I was the intended target.”

“It’s true,” Joe said. Singh glanced across at him. “Tockman was about to shoot him in the head when Eddie stepped in.”

“And you weren’t injured?”

“Only emotionally,” Len said dryly.

Singh took a step closer to him, still frowning...and then he uttered the words Len had been waiting for all along: “Do I know you from somewhere? You look really familiar.”

“I’m Barry’s partner. You’ve probably seen me around the precinct. I came here to pick him up. Just my luck he wasn’t here.”

“I wouldn’t say your luck has anything to do with it; Barry Allen has a bad habit of going AWOL these days,” Singh said. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. “It’s been a long day. You’ll have to excuse me; there is going to be a lot of paperwork waiting for me when all this is over with. And I have to contact the families of the deceased. I’ll send someone to do a psych eval for the trauma, and take a statement from you, and then you can go home.”

“Much obliged,” Len said, allowing only a little sarcasm to leak into his tone.

“Oh,” Singh said, “and before I forget, you should probably let Barry know you’re all alright. He called earlier; I gave him the gist of the situation. He’s probably worried sick."

“I’ll call him,” Joe said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Nodding, Singh vanished down the stairwell. Len folded his arms - and, before he forgot about it, pulled the sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them back on. Last thing he needed was another cop getting a look at his familiar face and cottoning on to who he really was.

Frowning at his phone, Joe said, “Barry’s not picking up.”

“Probably lost signal,” Len said. “I’m going downstairs. I wanna get this stupid statement out of the way so I can get the hell outta dodge.”

He was halfway down the corridor, shoving past inquisitive cops, when Joe called his name, causing him to turn back for a second.

“Leonard,” Joe said. “You did the right thing, you know.”

Len thought back to the look on Tockman’s face, the reassuring weight of the gun in his hand… and the horrible choking sound Eddie Thawne had made as he bled out on the floor.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

 

~*~

 

"I don't understand how this can have happened," Barry said as Caitlin took a blood sample from his arm. "How the hell did Tony get out?"  
  
They were holed up in a small store room with all the exits barricaded. They'd run into Cisco and Doctor Wells during their headlong dash away from Farooq; Cisco was pacing up and down the room, chewing his nails, whilst Doctor Wells stared intently at the needle delving into Barry's skin. Barry, meanwhile, fidgeted. He’d left his phone back in the cortex, where it had probably been fried by the massive electrical charge rolling off the metahuman’s body. Now he had no way of knowing how things were going at the precinct; tormented by the knowledge that he was doing nothing to help, that they would be waiting for a hero and one wasn’t coming.

Iris would be counting on him. He was letting her down. Barry clenched his fists.  
  
"It must have been something to do with the power outage," Caitlin said as she removed the needle. "When Farooq drained the system we must have lost power to the pipeline. The locking mechanisms must have opened themselves."  
  
Barry thought he might vomit. All those metahumans loose, the city vulnerable and plunged into darkness, and him still missing his speed. Nimbus. Baez. They could do incalculable damage alone; if they teamed up, it would be even worse, and he had no way to stop them.  
  
"Not possible," Cisco insisted. "You think I didn't plan for this? Power outages aren't exactly an uncommon occurrence; the pipeline has its own generator that's totally separate from the mains electricity. To drain that, Farooq would've had to go down into the pipeline and access the generator, and without a handprint that matches the scanner, there's no way he could get in."   
  
"He must have! Tony Woodward didn't just unlock his own cell and come waltzing out by himself! Something went wrong, the generator must have malfunctioned, or  -"   
  
"A technical malfunction did not let Mr. Woodward out of his cell," said Doctor Wells. "I did." 

A deafening silence followed, filled only by a rushing sound in Barry's ears, like he'd stuck his head directly beneath a waterfall.

"You let him out? Why would you do that?"  
  
"To buy us more time. We needed a distraction, we needed time to try and restore your speed, and Mr. Woodward was more than happy to oblige."  
  
"He was made of _metal_ ," Barry said, appalled. "His whole body was a conductor and you sent him to fight a meta whose power is electricity? You knew what would happen! You sent him to his death!"  
  
"I did what I had to do to ensure our survival," Doctor Wells said flatly. "Survival of the fittest, Mr. Allen: it has served this species well, as it served me in this instance. Woodward died, and we survived. Now we need to focus on continuing to do so."  
  
"You murdered him," Barry said.  
  
"You're acting awfully sentimental about the death of a man who tortured you as a child."  
  
"Tony was a bully, and he was mean, but he didn't deserve to die!" Barry backed off, horrified. "You don't care about people at all, do you? All that - that bullshit about the greater good, healthcare and help for the masses, saving humanity - you didn't mean any of it. You don't care! Human lives don't matter to you. All you care about is yourself."  
  
"I care more for my own life and the lives of everyone in here than I cared for a man whose primary goal in life was to intimidate those weaker than himself and bring pain and misery to as many people as possible, so yes, if that makes me a monster, then I don't deny it. I did what I had to do."  
  
"You used him," Barry said. "You're using all of us! Is that all we are to you, just pieces of your game? Pawns for you to sacrifice when the time's right?"  
  
"We are wasting time on semantics when we should be focusing on getting out of here," Wells snapped. "Berate me all you want, but do not waste Mr. Woodward's sacrifice by continuing to do so when our lives are in jeopardy; we need to move!"  
  
"He's right," Caitlin said, packing up her samples. "We have to go, or we’re all going to end up the same way as Tony."

Loath as he was to do it, Barry turned his back on Wells. This conversation wasn't over, but he wasn't going to sit here and wait to die, no matter how mad he was about what Wells had done.

"Did you figure out why it didn't work? Why didn't I get my speed back?"  
  
Caitlin shook her head. "Your cells are primed and ready to go, there's no reason why it shouldn't have worked. At least, not one I can think of."

“I have an idea,” Cisco said. He peered into Caitlin’s medical kit. “Could you pass me that scalpel?”

Frowning, Caitlin handed it over. Cisco held it up to the light, examined it - and then spun around and slashed the back of Barry’s hand.

“Ow!” Barry yelped, snatching his hand back. “What the hell, Cisco?” He scrubbed at the blood on his hand.

“Look,” Cisco said.

Barry looked. Then he _really_ looked. The cut had already stopped bleeding; it was starting to heal over.

His heart stuttered.

“That’s what I thought. You’re healing,” Cisco said triumphantly, handing Caitlin the scalpel. “You’re healing _fast._ That means you have your powers back, it’s just that for some reason, you’re not able to use them.”

“Surely there was a better way for you to test that,” muttered Caitlin as she confiscated the scalpel.

“Barry, listen. You have your speed, okay? It worked!”

“But it didn’t!” Barry said frustratedly, holding his hand up to show them. It shook at a perfectly ordinary, adrenaline-filled pace. “I still can’t access it. I’m trying, I’m trying so damn hard, but I can’t - I just can’t - ”

“Oh, man,” Cisco said, comprehension suddenly dawning. “I think I know what the problem is.” He clapped Barry on the arm. “You’ve got performance anxiety.”

“What?”

“You know, it’s like when you’re in the bedroom. You’re getting ready to do the do, you’re a little nervous, you start stressing out and then you can’t get it up, and then the more embarrassed and stressed you get, the harder it is to get it up, and _then -_ ”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” Barry said, cheeks flaming. Cisco’s description was drawing a rather uncomfortable parallel with what had happened to him and Len the other night. “So what, you’re saying I need some kind of… speed viagra?”

“What? No, that would be ridiculous. I’m saying you need to get over yourself."

“Excuse me?”

“Believe in yourself. Have some confidence, man. You got this! You’re the freaking Flash, you can handle this situation!”

“Yeah, great, that helps,” Barry said. “Look, fine, so it’s a psychological thing - that doesn’t help me get over it, that means I’m gonna need _therapy_!”

“You don’t need therapy,” Doctor Wells said. “All you need is a little faith.”

“Yeah,” Barry said scathingly. “I’m kind of having a little trouble with that right now.”

Wells met his gaze without flinching.

Cisco broke the tension, saying, “Well if using your speed is out of the question, we’re gonna have to get out of here the ordinary way. We have a couple of vehicles in the parking garage; we used to use them to transport samples and equipment. Can anybody drive?”

“I can,” Barry said. If he couldn’t use his speed, he’d have to be useful in other ways. “Let’s move. We’ve wasted too much time here already.”

The parking garage was eerily silent when they got down there, Barry and Caitlin in the lead whilst Cisco and Doctor Wells followed. Wells’ wheelchair glided smoothly across the floor with a gentle whir. Barry made a beeline for the van, unlocked it and clambered in, taking a deep breath as he adjusted the seat and mirrors. It had been a long time since he’d driven, and never anything of this size. _And_ it was a stick shift. He’d have to hope and pray he didn’t stall it.

“Guys, come on!” he shouted as Caitlin hopped up beside him.

“Shit!” Cisco said.

That did not sound good. Barry stuck his head out through the door.

Doctor Wells was fighting with his wheelchair, a shocked look on his face. He messed with the controls, but the chair didn’t move. White-faced, he looked up, straight into Barry’s eyes.

“Shit,” Barry said, and then Farooq Gibran came barrelling through the doors, yelling.

The world slowed down.

It was like pressing pause on the universe. The world stopped turning, ground to a halt. Barry’s breathing sounded obnoxiously loud to him in the sudden stillness; his whole body shook.

He felt that _flare_ as the lightning in his veins sizzled to life, shooting through him like the world’s greatest rush of adrenaline, and he _moved._

He ran to Wells, grabbed him and almost knocked the chair over in his haste to yank Wells free of it. Wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulders, he hauled him free of the chair and they sped clear just in time to avoid a bolt of electricity that Farooq flung their way with a roar.

Barry skidded to a stop a few feet away, struggling to support Wells’ weight. Grimacing, Barry tried to pull him into a better position.

“Farooq!” he shouted. “You don’t have to do this.”

Skin crackling, Farooq said, “He’s a murderer. His particle accelerator made me this! He made me kill my own friends!”

Wells’ sharp fingers bit into Barry’s shoulder as he clung to him. Barry gripped him tighter, holding him up.

“He made a mistake,” he said. “The particle accelerator was supposed to help people, it was never meant to blow up!”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Farooq, advancing on them. “It still happened. All those people died. They deserve justice.” He fixed a malevolent glare on Wells. “Do you know how many people’s lives you destroyed that night? How many people your accelerator killed? My friends were good people, they tried to save me. And they died because of you. You don’t even know their names.”

“I know their names,” said Wells. “I know all of them.”

Barry sagged slightly, fighting to keep him upright. Even hanging precariously from Barry’s side, with nothing but willpower and a recently reinstated speedster keeping him on his feet, Wells managed to sound calm and in control.

“Jake Davenport,” he said. “Daria Kim.”

Farooq tilted his head slightly.

“Ralph Dibney,” Wells continued. “Al Rothstein. Grant Emerson. Will Everett, Baya DeCosta.” His gaze flickered over to where Cisco and Caitlin were cowering together by the van. “...Ronnie Raymond.”

Caitlin swallowed.

“I know their names,” Wells said. “I know about all of them. I know that I did incalculable damage that night - damage which I can never atone for. My accelerator was supposed to help usher in a new era of scientific progress, to help the human race take another step forward… and instead, people died. And I accept full responsibility.” His chin came up. “My only request is that you let these people go. Punish me if you will. I would not be arrogant enough to claim that I don’t deserve it. But my assistants - my friends - and the Flash here, they are good people. They don’t deserve to suffer for my mistakes.”

“Since when did you care about innocent people?” demanded Farooq. “Since when did you care about a little collateral damage? They work with you. They helped you tear this city apart. They’re just as much to blame as you are.”

“Farooq,” Barry said, extending his free hand to the man, palm up. “Please. It doesn’t have to be this way. S.T.A.R Labs helped me to understand my powers. They can help you too.”

“I don’t want help from any of you! You killed my friends!” shouted Farooq, and then he threw his hands out and sent a bolt of electricity searing in their direction.

Barry blurred out of range, diving sideways and dragging Wells with him. They hit the floor hard. Farooq staggered with the momentum of his attack and tried to steady himself for another hit, so slow from Barry’s perspective that he might have been moving in slow motion, and Barry yanked Wells across the room to where Cisco and Caitlin were waiting, deposited Wells behind the van and then shot back to the centre of the room just in time to avoid another of the metahuman’s attacks.

Panting, Farooq backed off, holding his hand out with a nimbus of electricity building around his palm, sparks jumping from his fingertips. Barry shifted his weight, watching for his every move. Farooq fired off a blast that Barry dodged, and then he shot off to the other side of the room, let Farooq aim at him again and again, trying to tire him out the way he had with Kyle Nimbus. Fuelled by his anger, Farooq lunged, and Barry wove in and out, avoiding the bolts of electricity flying his way, shooting from side to side as beams of lights scorched a few inches past his face, warming the exposed skin of his cheek. Gasping, Barry staggered backwards, and the next blast slammed into him head on, knocked him off his feet and sent him flying across the room.

He skidded, hit the wall and lay there for a second with pain shooting through his ribs, and then plunged himself back into the speedforce to give himself a second to breathe, roll over and get back on his feet. Sweat trickled down his back, the speedforce singing through his body.

There was something different about the way he moved - like before, he’d been trying to consciously tap into the speedforce and then use it, whereas now he barely had time to think of what he was doing before he was moving. Dodging Farooq’s blasts, trying to counter, although he didn’t think he could physically punch the guy lest he end up the same way as the Farooq’s poor dead friends. There were no weapons in sight, and aside from beating the shit out of him with a massive stick, Barry had no idea how the hell he was supposed to beat him. Backing off, he tried to put some space between them, and then Caitlin cried out. Barry twisted to look, alarmed, and then Farooq’s attack hit him squarely between the shoulder blades and he arched and yelled in pain, trying to throw it off.

He panicked, writhing like a fish on a hook as he tried to throw off Farooq’s attack. Last time it had felt like a sucking sensation, the metahuman parasitically sapping his speed like a tick drawing blood. This was different; his whole body burned as if branded, his muscles screamed, but he felt hot all over rather than sick with dread the way he had before. Farooq was trying to rip away his speed, but this time Barry hung grimly on. Having been without it, he thought he’d rather die than be parted from his powers again.

_Mine,_ he thought viciously. _You’re not taking this from me again, you are NOT -_

They were both shouting, and the speedforce was building to an unbearable intensity as he fought against the metahuman’s hold. Sparks danced across Barry’s skin, his lightning flaring vivid yellow, he clenched his fists and gave another desperate _wrench_ to free himself and then Farooq _howled_ and Barry flew away from him and skidded across the room, almost falling over before he righted himself and warily turned around.

Farooq lay sprawled on his back, head lolling at an odd angle. The crackling sound that had been steadily emanating from him had cut out, and the room seemed oddly quiet in its absence. Warily, Barry drew closer, waiting for the man’s creepy, black-veined eyes to pop open and for him to sit up and lunge at him, but he remained eerily motionless. Heart hammering, Barry stepped forward, nudged him with the tip of his toe and then immediately sped to the opposite side of the room…

Nothing. Not even the faintest flicker of movement. Edging closer, Barry slowly sank to his knees and held his palm out over Farooq’s body to feel for some kind of static charge. The man’s body was still warm, but when Barry pressed trembling fingers to his pulse point - half expecting the man to grab his wrist - there was nothing.

A wave of sorrow came over him, and he bowed his head. Two deaths tonight - two too many. Carefully, he closed Farooq’s dark staring eyes and got to his feet, grimacing as his knee joints popped.

“Is it over?” Cisco asked, peeking out from over the hood of the van.

“Yeah,” Barry said. “It’s over. He… he’s dead.”

“Damn,” said Cisco. He slipped an arm underneath Wells’ armpit; Caitlin slipped around the doctor’s other side and together they hoisted him into an upright position, using the van for balance. “Man, I don’t wanna ruin the moment, I get that this is a serious situation and everything… but that. Was. _Awesome._ ”

“I think I’d lean towards ‘terrifying’,” said Caitlin.

Barry flitted over to where Wells’ wheelchair sat discarded on the other side of the room, ran the chair over to them and together the three of them helped the man back into his seat. Collapsing into the chair, Wells breathed out, took his glasses off and rubbed at the pinch-marks on his nose.

“‘Terrifying’ seems to be an appropriate summation,” he agreed. “But at least you seem to have overcome the problems with your speed, Mr. Allen. Once again we - and this entire city - are in your debt.”

Wearily, Barry managed a smile. With two metahumans dead, half the city’s power out and his whole body still shaking from being repeatedly electrocuted, he didn’t feel like it was much of a victory. But they weren’t dead, he supposed. That was something.

Then he froze. What with fighting for his own life and the lives of Cisco, Caitlin and Wells, he’d forgotten about the other situation - the hostage situation at the precinct. Joe and Iris had been trapped in there for upward of an hour now, and the Flash wasn’t there to save them. Anything could have happened.

“Shit,” he said, “Iris - ”

“Oh my God,” said Caitlin, covering her mouth. “The precinct! Go!”

He didn’t need telling twice. Heart in his mouth, Barry gathered his speed around him like a mantle and ran.

 

~*~

 

There were dozens of people milling around the precinct when Barry arrived; reporters, paramedics, cops, a thick crowd of them. Heart in his mouth, he craned his neck, frantically searching. He couldn't see her, he was straining his eyes for the first sight of dark hair and brown skin. She wasn't there, she -  
  
All of a sudden, he spotted her. Sat on the stairs with Joe, a few feet above all the chaos below. She was smiling, leaning against her dad. Weak with relief, Barry breathed in properly for the first time since he'd spoken to Captain Singh that evening. She was alive, she was breathing and smiling and living, and he could have cried with relief.  
  
Joe looked up and spotted him. He stood up and waved, and Barry hurried towards them, dodging around everyone in his path without stopping to apologise. 

It took all of his willpower not to really _run_ . Breaking into a jog, Barry rushed up the stairs and launched himself at Iris.   
  
She'd been getting up when he reached her; he almost sent them both flying down the stairs. Barry clung to her, his heart still hammering. She laughed, a beautiful, musical sound, and she was safe, she was okay, he hadn't lost his best friend. Shakily, Barry breathed out. He could smell the familiar strawberry musk of her shampoo, a faint undertone of sweat, Eddie's washing powder... good smells, Iris smells. Comforting, like home. He hung onto her with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, fervently thanking every deity above and below for watching over her even when he couldn't. 

"Easy there, tiger," Iris said warmly.  
  
Barry backed off a little, holding her at arm's length. "Thank god you're okay! I was so worried!" He hugged her again.  
  
Iris gave him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm fine, Barr. Really."  
  
"More than fine," Joe said proudly. "My daughter's a hero."  
  
"What happened?" Barry asked over her shoulder. "Nobody could tell me what was going on, Captain Singh just said you were being held hostage."  
  
"We were. Some lunatic calling himself the Clock King. I handled it," Iris said. She gave him a little push. "Barr. Choking."  
  
"God, sorry." He backed off slightly. "What do you mean, you handled it?"  
  
She shrugged. "He decided to take me for a little helicopter ride. I wasn't really in the mood for sightseeing. Used the gun in Eddie's ankle holster and shot him in the leg. Perfect shot." She grinned at Joe. "Told you you should've let me become a cop."  
  
"After what you put me through when I heard that gun go off, I'm damn glad I didn't," Joe said darkly.  
  
"Me too," came a familiar drawl. "There are far too many cops in this family already."  
  
Barry whirled around. Len was standing a few steps down with his hands in his pockets, most of his face obscured by a pair of enormous sunglasses. "Leonard? When did you get here? I didn't think it was on the news yet." He frowned. "And what are you _wearing_? Is that _blood_?" Horrified, he touched the rusty spatters on Len’s face. “Tell me you didn’t go barging into a _hostage situation_.”  
  
"I've been here this whole time," Len said. "You know I hate missing out on the action."  
  
Barry blinked. "You… you were here?"  
  
"Came to surprise you," said Len, taking the glasses off. "I was going to take you out for dinner. Hence the suit. If I'd know some lunatic was gonna choose this specific time to start shooting people I might have left it for another day."  
  
"You were in the precinct this whole time?"  
  
Barry felt a wave of dizziness come over him. To think that not only Joe and Iris, but even Len had been in the building with some guy waving a gun around… he could have lost three of the people who mattered to him most in the space of a few short seconds without even knowing about it. He grabbed the banister for support.

"It's a good thing he was here, actually," said Iris. "Leonard was actually the one who pushed me to the floor when the first shots rang out." She smiled broadly. "My hero."  
"Ooh, please," Len said, shuddering. "Not so loud. I have a reputation to uphold." 

Barry threw himself into Len's arms. 

He crushed Len against him, eyes squeezed tightly closed, feeling the reassuring warmth of his body. Len leaned into his embrace and put a hand on the small of his back, his thumb lightly rubbing against Barry's spine.

"It's alright, Scarlet," he said softly. "Not a scratch on me. Which is more than I can say for Detective Thawne."  
  
Barry stiffened. "Eddie? Is - is he okay? What - ?"   
  
"He's fine. Took a couple of bullets, but at least our gunman knew his way around a tourniquet. They took him to hospital, he'll be fine."   
  
"God." Barry clung to him. "I could've lost you. I didn't even know you were here." 

Then he remembered Iris again and his stomach gave another lurch. He reached out and drew her into the hug, an arm around each of them, holding them close until his heart rate started to even out.   
  
Len tolerated the hug for a while, but eventually started to shift uneasily. Allergic to PDA as always. Reluctantly, Barry released them - then he remembered Joe and threw himself at his stepfather in yet another hug. 

Joe laughed and patted him on the back. "Guess someone's feeling better."  
  
"Yeah," Barry said. "Much better." 

He stepped back and he and Joe exchanged glances. Joe seemed to get the message; his smile widened.   
  
"Alright. Well now that we're all here, how about we go pay a little visit to the hospital? Eddie and his ankle holster saved all of our asses; least we can do is keep him company. Wally’s not here, so we can all squeeze in the car, just so long as nobody breathes." He rolled his eyes. “At least one of my kids managed to stay out of trouble tonight. Iris, you saved the day, so you can ride up front. Barr, you and Leonard can take the back seat.”   
  
"Not happening," Len said immediately. "No way am I getting in the back of a police car, not under any circumstances."   
  
Joe frowned and opened his mouth, but Barry interjected, "No, that's cool. We'll walk. It's only a couple of blocks. Uh, if that's okay with you," he said, turning to Len.   
  
Len shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"   
  
They walked together in companionable  silence, fingers threaded together. For once Len didn't complain about walking hand in hand. Maybe he understood Barry's need to keep him close in the aftermath of what had just happened. Or maybe it was just as much for his benefit as Barry's. Maybe he wasn't as unaffected by the entire situation as he was making out.  
  
They were just outside the parking lot when Barry turned to face him and said, "Can we stop out here for a second?"  
  
"Bad memories? We do seem to spend an awful lot of time at the ER."  
  
"It's not that." Barry took a deep breath. He'd been psyching himself up to reveal his secret the whole way there, hence the sweaty hands and uncharacteristic silence. Every time he thought he was ready, he'd faltered at the last minute and let the moment pass. This was his last chance; he couldn't tell him once they were inside, with Eddie and Iris and dozens of hospital staff-members listening in. "I have to tell you something."  
  
"Me first," Len said.  
  
"It's important!"  
  
"So's this. I got held at gunpoint about an hour ago, you gotta cut me a little slack."  
  
"Okay, fine," said Barry, the butterflies in his stomach staging a revolt. He fidgeted from foot to foot. Typical of Len not to speak up about whatever this was until the precise second Barry had decided to break the news.  
  
"I'm going back to work," Len said. "Tomorrow."  
  
Barry's heart sank. "Tomorrow? Why didn't you say anything?"  
  
"Only just found out. I got the call on my way to the precinct, didn't get a chance to tell you. There's a big job on the table - a new client for the company. It's gonna be a big pay-off if we can strike a deal with them, and a healthy pay packet for anyone involved... it's kind of all hands on deck. And you know what my boss is like for calling me in at short notice. I'm sorry."  
  
"No, it's okay," Barry said. "I mean, we always knew you were gonna have to go back to work eventually, right? Vacation doesn't last forever. And I'm sure it must have been pretty boring for you to have to wait around when I was at work. I was just hoping we'd have a little more time. It's been nice having you around."  
  
"Ah, you'd have got tired of it soon enough. I'd only start getting in your way. I'm sorry it's short notice, but there's not a lot I can do."  
  
"That's okay," Barry said. "At least we have tonight."  
  
"Mm." Len lifted Barry's hand to his mouth and kissed it, the kind of sweet gesture he usually kept safely hidden away at home. Barry's heart did an elated somersault. "Now. What was it you wanted to tell me?"   
  
Barry hesitated.  
  
The thing was, he'd been putting off coming clean to Len because he knew things were going to be weird for a while when he did. Like his dad pointed out, Barry had been telling barefaced lies for a good couple of months. That was bound to make things a little awkward. Telling him the truth wouldn't be easy, and he couldn't be sure how Len would react. Even telling him now had been a risk, but he'd been counting on the public setting, and the fact that they were about to go see Eddie, to keep Len's reaction under control. After all, he couldn't go off too hard if they had an audience... or so Barry had hoped. 

But he'd also been planning on having some more time with Len in order to smooth things over. If he told him now and their schedules both went haywire again, it could trigger a whole host of other arguments that they wouldn't have time to fix. Barry could handle Len's temper, but it was a delicate process that needed a lot of patience. If Len reacted badly, Barry needed at least a couple of days alone with him to try and keep things under wraps. He bit his lower lip.

"Come on, out with it," Len said.

They were so happy, and they only had one more night to enjoy it properly before Len went back to his weird irregular hours and sudden disappearances. Besides which, he had just been a hostage, for crying out loud. In spite of his bravado, he had to be feeling a little fragile. You didn't just walk something like that off.

Tell him now and risk ruining their evening, throwing their whole relationship into turmoil immediately after a traumatic event? Or wait a little longer?

A couple more days couldn't hurt. Right?

"I just wanted to say that I love you," Barry said.  
  
Len rolled his eyes. "Well you didn't have to make such a big song and dance about it. I was starting to get worried. You said it was important."  
  
"It is important!" Barry said indignantly.  
  
"You're a sap," Len said, ruffling his hair. Barry squawked in complaint and tried to dodge. "Melodramatic bastard. Come on, let's get this over with. I've been held at gunpoint today. I need a shower, a hot meal and to collapse on the couch. Let's get this hospital crap out of the way."

 

~*~

 

Eddie was high as a kite. It was kind of incredible, really.   
  
He'd been beaming all over his face from the moment Barry and Len walked in, but this was hardly out of character. The first inkling Barry got that something was wrong was when he offered Eddie a bouquet of flowers he'd bought from the gift shop and Eddie started laughing uproariously, like they were the funniest thing he'd seen all day. It was infectious; Barry's mouth started twitching, and suddenly he was laughing too. Even Len cracked a smile. High Eddie, it appeared, was a lot like sober Eddie but cranked up to another level. Twice as cheerful as usual and with an abundance of giggling. He was adorable.  
  
"He's on a lot of meds," Joe said wearily. "But he's gonna be fine."  
  
"Hey Barry," Eddie said, grinning. "Guess what? I got shot."  
  
"So I heard," said Barry. "You feeling okay?"  
  
"I feel amazing," Eddie said dazedly. "I feel... like a cloud. I'm so fluffy. It's so nice."  
  
"Well you look a lot better than the last time I saw you," said Len.  
  
Eddie turned to him. "Yeah," he said solemnly. "I'm feeling a _hole_ lot better." He cackled, making them all jump. "Get it? A _hole_ lot better. Leonard, you like puns, right? Did you get it? A _hole_ lot better. Because I got shot. And now I have a hole in me."  
  
"Yes, the finer points of that one weren't lost on me, funnily enough."  
Eddie beamed up at them all. Joe shook his head. "You know, it's only because I respect you too much as my partner and friend that I'm not filming you right now. I could make  
a fortune posting this shit on Youtube."  
  
"I love you, Joe," Eddie said.  
  
"Love you too, partner. Even though you dated my daughter behind my back for more than six months."  
  
"I'm sorry," Eddie said forlornly. He hung his head like a sad little puppy.  
  
"Don't worry about it, it's okay," Joe said, patting his hand. He sighed. "Before this I was still kinda mad at him, but how can you be pissed at that face? Look at him. He's adorable."  
  
"Babe," Iris said, "I hope for your sake that when this wears off, you don't remember any of it." She got to her feet, yawning. "I'm gonna go grab some coffee. Any takers?"

Len and Joe immediately raised their hands. Barry declined; caffeine tended to do weird things to his speed if he wasn't careful. After all the adrenaline that had been shooting through his body tonight, more chemicals were the last thing he needed.  


As Iris left the room, Barry said, "Bathroom," and neatly excused himself, leaving Joe and Len to deal with the giggling Eddie.  


He sped to the lab, threw on the Flash suit and zipped past Iris in the hospital corridor suddenly enough to startle her, making her jump out of her skin and almost drop her coffee. Barry managed to intervene in the nick of time, catching two polystyrene cups and intercepting the third before more than a dribble of coffee had spilled. Then he whirled into the bathroom for some paper towels to mop up the mess.  


As he dropped to the floor to clean up, Iris stood over him with her hands on her hips. "You're late."  
  
" _I'm sorry_ ," Barry said. " _There was... a situation. It couldn't be helped_ ." He straightened up with a wad of paper towels in his gloved fist. “ _Seemed like you handled it pretty well by yourself._ ”

“Well, if you want something doing…” She folded her arms. “Where were you?”

“ _That’s classified._ ”

“Right, so you don’t actually have a reason.”

“ _I have a reason, I’m just not gonna tell you._ ” The last thing he wanted was an interrogation about how he’d allowed himself to be repeatedly electrocuted in order to regain his speed. That, even for Iris, might be a bit too extreme.

Iris looked like she didn’t believe a word of it. She didn’t look mad any more, though. Didn’t stop Barry from feeling guilty about it. She’d been waiting for the Flash to show up and save the day, and he’d failed her. If he hadn’t left her to handle the Clock King herself, Eddie wouldn’t be in a hospital bed. Things could have gone far more badly than they had. Knowing that it wasn’t his fault didn’t make Barry feel any better.

“ _I won’t be late again,_ ” he said. “ _Next time you need me...I’ll be there._ ”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“ _Trust me,_ ” Barry said. “ _I don’t._ ”

He blew past her in a rush of adrenaline and speed, relishing in it. This was natural for him, now. It was how he was supposed to be.

Ten seconds later he was out of the suit and heading back into Eddie’s hospital room, taking his seat just in time for a flustered looking Iris to step back inside - minus the coffees Barry had left neatly lined up on top of the vending machine.

“Everything okay, baby?” Joe asked, frowning.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure,” Iris said, biting her lip to hold back a smile. “Everything’s great.”

 

~*~

 

“ _The gunman, styling himself as ‘The Clock King’, held ten people hostage including a number of police officers and two civilians, neither of whom were available for comment. An officer was injured at the scene but was later taken to hospital and is expected to make a full recovery. Initial reports suggest -_ ”

Barry sat on the couch with the remote pressed against his lips, watching TV. It was the third news report on the incident he’d managed to catch, and he intended to watch all of them. These days Barry rarely had to watch the local news, he was usually there to experience it firsthand, which just made it all the more galling that he hadn’t been there this time. He wanted every single little detail, to relive it all in perfect clarity as if he’d really been there to help.

“You’re really gonna watch that?” asked Len, emerging from the hallway. He’d just stepped out of the shower and was wearing a pair of Barry’s old, stretched out sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt.

Turning, Barry paused for a second to admire him, looking cosy in his loose sleepwear. “Sorry. I don’t know, I just feel weird about it, knowing I wasn’t there. Anything could have happened to you.”

“Well it doesn’t matter. I’m here now, with you. We have one more night of freedom to spend however we choose… and I _don’t_ choose to spend it watching the news.” He came over, plucked the remote from Barry’s grip and switched off the TV. Then he leaned down over the back of the sofa, cupping the side of Barry’s neck as he kissed him.

The angle gave the illusion, just for a moment, that Len was taller than him. Barry liked that; it made him feel safe, protected. Like maybe for a second it wasn’t all up to him. Eagerly, he deepened the kiss, tasting Len’s toothpaste on his tongue, pulling him closer in spite of the awkwardness of their positions.

When they parted, both were breathless. Len looked down, and smirked.

“Ooh,” he said approvingly.

Barry blushed a little. He was quite obviously hard; it had taken him by surprise, that just one kiss had been enough to turn him on so rapidly. Suddenly he was very aware of it... and even more aware of Len’s fingers brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of his neck, and of the pleased smirk on his face.

“Well would you look at that,” he said. “Told you it’d come back to you. One of these days you’re gonna have to start admitting that I’m always right.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” said Barry, stretching up to kiss him again. “Mm. You think we should… you wanna… bedroom?”

“Oh, hell yes,” said Len, and he grabbed Barry’s hand and pulled him off the sofa.


	32. Chapter 32

The next morning, Len moved around the apartment like a ghost. Barry lay dozing, drifting in and out of sleep to the distant sound of the shower. He lifted his head slightly as Len came back into the room to dress, and then the older man crossed the room and bent over him. He leaned over to kiss the top of Barry's head, but Barry turned at the last minute and kissed him on the mouth, still clumsy with sleep. Smiling, Len slipped out of the room and the front door clunked shut behind him.

He'd come to kiss him goodbye, Barry thought warmly. Once upon a time, he'd have just left without a word. They were closer now than they had been before. 

Ordinarily when Len was on an early start, Barry would have gone straight back to sleep again. Today, though, he sighed and kicked back the covers. He had stuff to do.

After quickly scouting the apartment to make sure Len was definitely gone, Barry got down to business. He blurred around the apartment at superspeed, making an enormous cooked breakfast - eggs, bacon, the works, since he hadn't gotten around to eating dinner the night before. It was such a _relief_ to have his speed back, to be able to flit around the apartment at three hundred miles per hour and know that he was still taking it slow. He was being ridiculous with it, he knew - no one needed to clean their teeth at ninety miles per hour or tie their laces at two hundred. But it was like finding out he had superpowers all over again. Every second at normal speed was a second wasted - except for the shower. Their water pressure couldn’t keep up with that kind of pace. He took his time soaping himself down, letting the water rinse away all the fear and tension of the night before. Then he burst out of the shower, spraying water all over the floor, and was dried and dressed and out the door in thirty seconds flat.

It was good to be the Flash.

 

~*~

 

Barry was sat on the treadmill at S.T.A.R Labs, tying his laces, when he heard the familiar electronic whirr of Doctor Wells’ wheelchair. He glanced up. Wells was frowning slightly as he rolled over.

“You’re here bright and early today, Mr. Allen.”

Barry got to his feet. “Yeah, thought I’d get a head start. I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you were right. All this, my speed and everything - I haven’t been taking it seriously enough. I’ve gotten overconfident. I need to be better. Faster. Farooq took my speed because I got complacent, and I wasn’t fast enough to get away. I don’t ever wanna be at someone else’s mercy again. I wanna kick it up a notch.” He dipped his head a little. “...Will you help me?”

“Oh,” said Doctor Wells. “It would be my pleasure.”

Nodding, Barry stepped onto the treadmill. He switched it on and then within seconds he was sprinting, the speedometer climbing rapidly, shooting straight into triple figures and increasing so fast that even Barry’s speed-reading struggled to keep up. Lowering his head, he clenched his jaw and focused on trying to keep it climbing, feeling his heart-rate increase. Once upon a time he’d hated the treadmill. Now, though, it was a familiar friend. It had given him back his speed.

He could feel Wells’ eyes on him, boring into him with disturbing intensity. For once Barry didn’t mind. If Wells was going to watch him like a hawk and use his observations to help him improve his speed, well, that was fine with him.

Breathing hard through his nose, Barry shook off the thoughts whirling around inside his head and instead forced himself to focus. No time to be overthinking now. He had a lot of work to do.

 

~*~

 

“There was me thinking you were done with me,” Len drawled.

He placed their drinks down on the table; two beers, misty with condensation. Mick had texted, demanding his presence in this shitty little dive bar, and Len was already in a bad mood as a result. He didn’t like being summoned.

“Why d’you say that?” Mick demanded.

“We didn’t part on the best of terms,” Len reminded him. A cool reminder that he’d stormed out of Mick’s house, leaving a pile of bloody clothes and a bunch of foul expletives in his wake. Mick should’ve known better than to question his loyalty, to him _or_ Barry. Their argument had been short but vicious, and Len had thought that would be the end of their working relationship - at least until Mick had cooled off. Perhaps he didn’t know his partner as well as he thought he did.

Mick shrugged and brought his beer to his lips. “Things change.” He took a slurp. “Got a job for you.”

“So you said.” Len didn’t take his eyes off him. “It’s a little unorthodox. Usually I decide on the jobs, we figure out a basic plan, you leave me to handle the finer details… what changed?”

“You dropped the ball. You haven’t been paying attention. Too busy with all this Flash bullshit to remember exactly what it is we do: we steal things.”

“I keep telling you, Mick, we need to look at the bigger picture. The Flash is a means to an end; we’ll be able to steal far bigger and better things once we have him under wraps.”

“‘Cept we’ve been doin’ this for weeks and we’re still no closer to finding him than we were at the start. And I’m getting itchy. I wanna steal something, Snart.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

“I wanna steal something _big._ ” Mick leaned over the table. “Got my eye on a prize.”

“Fine, I’ll bite,” Len said. “What is it?”

Mick thrust a crumpled piece of paper across the table. It was an article torn haphazardly out of a newspaper, headed with a picture of an enormous blue gemstone, expertly polished and gleaming. Immediately, Len’s skin started prickling with that _urge._ The same feeling he got when he saw a nice wallet peeking out of a stranger’s back pocket, or a watch with a loose catch that he could easily slide off someone’s wrist. _Damn_ Mick Rory for knowing him too fucking well. Mick knew about his weakness for shiny, pretty things.

Keeping his expression neutral, he smoothed out the paper. His eyes skittered down the article, skim-reading. The gemstone was called ‘tanzanite,’ not something he was familiar with, but apparently it held a similar commercial value to sapphires. It was rare, too. Odd words jumped out at him here and there. Words like _106 carat_ and _largest on record._ And, most interestingly, _currently on display at the Central City museum._

Len’s fingers twitched hungrily.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of Mick obnoxiously fishing ice out of Leonard’s glass, popping it into his mouth and crunching it between his teeth. It sounded like glass breaking.

“So?” Mick said through a mouthful of ice. “You in?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Bullshit. I know that look. You’re already figuring out the best way in and you got five escape routes mapped out in the back of that brain of yours. We go way back, Snart. I know how to reel you in. You got the same look on your face looking at that gem as you do when you look at your boyfriend.”

“I think it’s best if we leave Barry out of this, don’t you? Business and pleasure. Never a good combination.” His tone left no room for argument: back off.

Unsurprisingly, Mick ignored it. “You can’t fool me, Snart. You want this. You been playing domestic for too long.” His lip curled. “You said you wanted to turn up the heat. You gonna pussy out just when things get interesting?”

Len ground his teeth, but forced himself to keep a level expression. “Fine. We’re gonna have to scope out the museum. It’s been a while since I last cased it; I want up to date schematics, security features, the works. Take pictures. Make a note of all possible exit and entry points, CCTV cameras, alarms, the works. Take the tour. Take it twice.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” Mick drained his drink, slammed it down and said, “what about the kid?”

“Change the record, Mick. Barry’s not gonna give us any trouble. I already told you, he thinks I’m a janitor, I keep weird hours and that’s all there is to it. I took a few weeks off to keep him sweet and now he’s happy, he won’t ask too many questions.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, wondering how he’d go about finding a buyer. That someone out there would want it was a certainty; anything rare, pretty and expensive was a magnet for rich idiots with no scruples and too much money. The question was how much they’d be willing to pay for it.

“So you’re in?” said Mick.

“Yes, Mick, I’m in. But a word to the wise; patience was never my strong suit, and mine’s wearing thin.” He leaned over the table, “Quit talking about Barry or the deal’s off. You can steal the damn thing by yourself.”

“Fine by me.” Mick raised his empty glass. “Want another drink?”

Len thought about it. He’d need a clear head soon to start working on his game plan, to do more background research. They had a time limit, though he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. The gem was only on loan to the museum for a few weeks. He’d have cussed Mick out for leaving it so long to tell him, but they both knew he liked the challenge of a time constraint.

One more drink, he figured, couldn’t hurt. After all, Mick was his oldest friend. His only friend, pretty much. Now they were back on speaking terms, he figured that was something to celebrate.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

 

~*~

 

“That was much better,” Wells said approvingly as Barry collapsed off the treadmill, sweating. “There was no change in speed itself, but a marked improvement in stamina. You were able to maintain your current top speed for almost twenty minutes. A definite improvement, Barry, well done.”

Barry staggered to the nearest chair and practically fell into it. Caitlin immediately came over with a litre bottle of water, which Barry sat and drained in a series of long, frantic gulps.

“Better,” he agreed, “But not good enough.” He tried to sit up. “I wanna go again.”

“Take a breather,” Wells said. “You won’t see any improvement by running yourself into the ground, you’re only likely to do yourself some kind of damage. Take five, Barry. You’ve earned it.”

“There’s a lot of bad people out there, and they won’t be taking five. I can’t take five halfway through a fight. I wanna go again, look, I’m - ”

Barry got up, and almost immediately crumpled as his legs trembled violently in protest. With as much dignity as he could muster, he sat back down.

"Okay, I think I'll take five," he said.  
  
"That strikes me as a good idea," Wells said dryly. "Perhaps we should all take a break. I'll be back in a minute. Restroom."   
  
He withdrew, leaving Barry to pant like a dog trapped in a hot car, sweat still coursing down the small of his back. Making a face, he tugged at the sweaty S.T.A.R Labs shirt he'd borrowed. Caitlin passed him another huge bottle of water.   


"So I thought you'd be interested to know that we've been working on some theories about what exactly happened with Blackout last night."  
  
"Blackout?"  
  
"Cool name, right?" Cisco said, grinning. "Took me a while to come up with it, but I can't work as well under pressure." He pulled a protein bar out of one of the desk drawers and tossed it Barry's way. "Guess it's kind of redundant naming them after they're already dead, but..." He shrugged.  
  
"So what happened?" Barry asked, forcing down a dense protein-filled lump like a boa constrictor swallowing a mouse. "With Blackout? How'd I beat him? I didn't have a plan, I didn't know what I was doing."  
  
"Best theory we can come up with is that you changed the way you connected with your powers," explained Caitlin. "Before, you always thought of it as something you had to consciously be aware of. You thought too hard about it before you actually used it. After you lost your speed, you were focusing so desperately on trying to get it back that you forgot that it's a part of you." She smiled. "You wouldn't think about breathing, or walking. You'd just do it. It's the same with the speedforce. When you stopped thinking about your powers and just connected to them, it had a marked effect on your physiology. Your cells started generating faster; you were creating more energy than the meta could safely handle. If you'll excuse the euphemism… he pretty much choked on you."  
  
"That explains a lot," Barry said cheekily. "It's a common problem. Maybe he should have asked Len for some tips."   
  
"Oh, man, gimme five for that!" Cisco said, holding up his hand.

“Oh my God,” Caitlin said, rolling her eyes, but she was grinning too.

“I just feel terrible about what I said to Doctor Wells,” Barry admitted, his smile faltering. “I basically accused him of being a heartless monster. What he did was terrible, but we’ve all screwed up over the past few months. I’ve screwed up plenty. I don’t agree with what he did, but I know he was only trying to save us. Even after all of that, he still wants to help me. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“What he did was a shock to all of us,” Caitlin said softly. “It scared me, that he would go to such lengths to protect us, that he would let someone die for our sake, but at the same time…” She swallowed. “If things had been different that night, when the particle accelerator exploded… if I could have sent someone to save Ronnie, I would. I would have let anyone take his place, anyone at all. If it was a stranger, someone who I knew was a bad person, that decision would become ten times easier. Doctor Wells is a brilliant man, but he’s also a logical one. Using Tony as a distraction wasn’t the _right_ thing to do, but it was the _smart_ thing to do. I hate knowing that a man died to save our lives, but I can’t condemn Doctor Wells for doing the same thing I would have done in his position.”

“We’d have done the same,” said Cisco. “If we’re being totally honest with ourselves. Wouldn’t we? It isn’t nice to think about, but who wouldn’t put their friends and family before some stranger? I don’t know if I could let someone else die for me, but for you guys? For Dante? We don’t get along, but I’d still sooner see some evil metahuman dead than my brother.”

“Yeah,” Barry said quietly. He’d been so outraged at Wells’ behaviour, but if Leonard had been in that building, or even if he’d known that Len as well as Joe and Iris was being threatened at the precinct and Woodward’s death might be the distraction they needed to get his powers back and help him save them… would he not have made the same call? He didn’t know. Much as he liked to believe he was a good person, he was starting to realise that the lines weren’t so black and white.

“Look,” said Caitlin. “Doctor Wells did something terrible. And I’d like to think it wasn’t necessary. But what’s done is done, and Doctor Wells is a good man. Maybe some of his decisions are difficult to accept, but what he did, he did for all of us. We’re still here. That’s what we should be focusing on, I think.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Wells, making them all jump out of their skins.

“Doctor Wells!” Caitlin said, her hands flying to her mouth. “I - ”

“Articulate and well-reasoned as always, Caitlin. And more open-minded than I deserve.”

Wells emerged from the doorway, steering his chair so that he was a few feet away from all of them. Barry fought the urge to hide and made himself meet Wells’ gaze, prickling with shame.

Wells’ cool eyes roamed across all of their faces, taking each and every one of them in. Burning all over with embarrassment, Barry swallowed and accepted the scrutiny, afraid to catch the eyes of his friends.

“You are right in saying that the ethics of what I did were debatable at best. At worst, abhorrent. The logic of the situation, however, couldn’t be denied. I did what I did to ensure our own survival. It was cruel. It was what human beings have been doing for millennia in order to survive. That doesn’t make it the correct course of action, but nevertheless… it is what I did. Mr. Woodward’s name will be yet another addition to the list of lives that were lost due to my actions. Rest assured that I will never forget what I did.” He gave a small, twisted smile and nodded down at his wheelchair. “This is the only reminder I need. I got off lightly. Many people were not so lucky.”

“Doctor Wells, I - ”

Wells held up a hand. “You are a good, kind person, Barry. I don’t blame you for being disgusted by what I did. I must admit that I am more than a little disgusted with myself. I did what was necessary, but I did not do what was right, and I completely understand your feelings about that.”

“No,” Barry said fervently. “What I wanted to say is - I’m sorry. What I said, it - it was in the heat of the moment, and it was unfair. I understand why you did what you did. And I wanted to apologise for everything.”

“I am not an easy man to get along with,” said Wells. “I have many peers, many acquaintances within the scientific community, but the three of you are the closest thing I would say I have to friends. People are… not my forte. I’ve been accused of being cold, callous, arrogant… all of which is true. But I can assure you, all of you, that the truth of the matter is that I care about you. All of you.”

“And we care about you too,” Caitlin said softly.

“Like, a lot,” Cisco added.

Wells gave a small, but warm smile. “Thank you, Cisco. Caitlin. ...Barry.” He looked away from them, saying, “I hope that, now that we’ve established there are no hard feelings between us, we’ll be able to carry on as before… and business as usual, with a speedster around, tends to involve copious amounts of food.” He smiled.“Who’s for Big Belly Burger?”

“Me!” Barry and Cisco said simultaneously.

“I could go for a Big Belly Burger,” Caitlin agreed.

“Excellent,” said Wells. “Barry. I don’t suppose you’d do the honours?”

“Yes sir,” Barry said, beaming - and he shot off to go and order as much Big Belly Burger as he could conceivably carry, leaving a grinning Cisco and Caitlin in his wake, whilst Doctor Wells sat back with that enigmatic smile on his face and watched him vanish.

 

~*~

He ran into Wally at Big Belly Burger. Literally.

Not at full speed, thankfully; he’d slowed to a normal pace when he was just around the corner, and he’d collected all of their orders - he had it down to a science by now; everyone always ordered the same thing, and Barry just ordered one of everything. He was getting ready to zip back to the lab when he realised he’d forgotten the ketchup. Cisco got grouchy if you forgot the ketchup.

He rushed back into the restaurant and collided hard with Wally, who was coming around the corner with an enormous milkshake in his hand. The cup jolted and tipped, about to splash; Barry’s speed kicked in and he reflexively grabbed Wally’s wrist and managed to save the drink, which sloshed alarmingly and then settled without spilling.

“Nice reflexes,” said Wally.

“Thanks.”

An awkward silence ensued. Barry had kind of been planning on never speaking to Wally again, so coming across him in such an awkward situation was kind of the opposite of what he’d have hoped for. Nervously, he shifted his weight. Paper bags rustled in his grip.

“Tell me you’re not gonna eat all that,” Wally said. “Man, I know you’re skinny, but you’ve got enough to feed eight people.”

“Oh no, I’m actually heading back to S.T.A.R Labs. Doctor Wells likes his Big Belly Burger, you know?”

“S.T.A.R Labs? But that’s on the other side of the city. It’ll be cold by the time you get there.”

_Only if I waste a lot more time standing here talking to you,_ Barry thought, but he didn’t say it. With a bland smile he said, “Didn’t think that one through, I guess.”

“So,” Wally said. “Crazy what happened at the precinct last night?”

“Oh, you heard about that?”

“My dad and sister got held at gunpoint. Of course I heard about it.”

“Right. It’s just that you weren’t there, so. Kind of figured you didn’t know.”

“I was staying with a friend,” Wally said. “Didn’t hear about it til I got back this morning. But you weren’t there either, from what I heard. Iris said Leonard went looking for you at the precinct, but you weren’t there. Do you often skip out on work?”

“I don’t work Tuesdays.”

“Huh.” Wally took a slurp of his drink, the straw rattling irritatingly. “You’d think Leonard would have known that.”

Barry paused. Actually, that _was_ weird, come to think of it. He’d never changed his hours since he and Len got together, and he’d never worked Tuesdays. So what was Len doing looking for him at the precinct when he knew Barry wouldn’t be there? 

“He probably got mixed up,” he said. “He’s been off work for a couple of weeks. Guess it’s hard to keep track of the days when you’re not in a routine. He probably forgot what day it was.” That wouldn’t be like Leonard at all, but with all the craziness that had been going on in their lives lately, he wouldn’t be surprised. It was amazing anybody could keep track of what was going on.

“Probably,” Wally agreed, which annoyed Barry more than if he’d tried to argue with him. “Guess it was lucky you weren’t there. Eddie’s in a pretty rough state from what I heard. He took a bullet for Leonard, did you know that? You owe him one.”

“Yeah,” Barry said flatly.

“I’m going to see him, actually. Thought I’d grab him something decent to eat on my way there. Hospital food blows.” He held up his own bag of food. “Anyway, I’d better get moving before visiting hours are over. I’ll see you around, Barry.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Barry said, and then Wally stepped around him and left the building,

For a moment or two, Barry stood and fumed in the middle of Big Belly Burger whilst people dodged around him, muttering in complaint. He was brought back to himself when someone shoved rudely past him; rubbing his arm where they’d pushed him, Barry shook his head and turned, walking out of the building with his mood rather the worse for wear. Fucking Wally. The most annoying thing was that he’d been completely civil, and yet that had got Barry’s back up more than if he’d been outwardly rude.

When he got back to S.T.A.R Labs, the food was lukewarm and his temper had cooled to match, but he was still irritable about the encounter. Sure, now Wally decided to find some equanimity, after all the horrible things he’d said. So Barry was just supposed to forget that Wally had said he should have stayed in a coma and died? Not likely.

The only good thing about the encounter was that he was able to channel his annoyance into a more constructive outlet: running. When he let his irritation flood his body rather than suppressing it, it stoked the speedforce inside him, like shovelling fuel onto an already growing flame. He ran a couple more hundred miles on Cisco’s treadmill, ate again, and then headed off to Iron Heights to pay a visit to his dad.

Henry gave him a crinkly-eyed smile when he saw him, pressing his hand up against the glass. Barry matched the movement, beaming, then picked up the phone, his mood immediately bolstered.

“Hey, slugger,” Henry said cheerfully. “How’re things?”

“Crazy as always,” Barry admitted. “But good, I guess. Aside from earlier. I ran into Wally in Big Belly Burger and he was an _asshole._ ” He scowled. “Well. Actually, he was kind of okay. But he was being a _secret_ asshole.”

“A secret asshole, huh? You sure you weren’t being a little oversensitive?”

“Oversensitive!” Barry said indignantly. “Dad, he literally said I should have stayed in a coma and never woken up! He said my whole family would be better off if I was brain dead!”

“I know, and that was a terrible thing to say to someone. But Wally’s been through a lot lately. Maybe you should consider cutting him some slack.” Henry gave a rueful smile in response to the disgusted look Barry threw him. “Yeah, I know, but just listen for a second. Joe’s been coming to see me a lot more, now that he believes I’m innocent. We both know you can’t always make it, when you’re doing your thing with our red friend out there in the city. I know that’s more important than coming to see me. No, listen,” he said when Barry tried to interrupt. “I understand you’re busy. But Joe’s been coming to see me more to compensate. We talk. And that’s how I know that Wally’s been acting out lately - not just with you. He’s doing some pretty crazy things behind the scenes. Fancies himself as a bit of a boy racer. It’s driving Joe to distraction. You gotta remember, Wally’s mom died not that long ago. That’s why he came to live with Joe in the first place. Something like that, it messes with you. Lord knows you were acting out for a long time after your mother passed away… still are, now I come to think about it.”

“Acting out? How am I acting out?”

Henry lowered his voice. “Well, running round the city at night in a skintight leather suit isn’t exactly normal behaviour, is it? Who knows what the neighbours think?”

His eyes were twinkling. Barry rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m just glad I still have the opportunity to do it. I nearly lost it all.”

“Lost it? How?”

“Oh, jeez, I forgot you didn’t know.” Barry shook his head. “It’s a long story. I hope you’ve got time.”

“Oh, trust me, for you I have all the time in the world.” Henry glanced at the clock on the wall. “But visiting hours end in half an hour, so you may have to paraphrase a little.”

So Barry launched into a retelling of the past couple of days, trying to keep his explanation fairly brief without losing any of the excitement of the story. It was nice to have a captive audience, and his dad was a highly appreciative listener. Besides, he had to get bored in prison, so Barry wanted to make it a good story.

He started with the weirdness at the crime scene and carried it from there, although he skipped over the embarrassment of not being able to get it up after he lost his speed; there were some things he didn’t feel comfortable talking to his dad about. Perhaps he ought to have omitted the whole repeated electrocution thing too, since during that part, Henry got a look on his face which would once have been a precursor to the announcement that Barry was grounded. But he stayed quiet until the end, when Barry ended with returning to the precinct and the story of Iris’ heroism - and Len’s. Joe had filled in the blanks for him, since Len was reticent to relive the experience. Barry couldn’t blame him, but he had a burning need to know what had happened, and Joe had told him all about Len’s actions. Standing up to the Clock King, searching out the key to release them when Iris was in danger. Len didn’t seem to think so - in fact, he was totally opposed to the idea - but he was a hero. Barry felt a warm glow of pride just thinking about it.

“Damn,” Henry said, whistling. “That’s one hell of a story. It’s like a movie.” He shook his head in wonder. “All that going on in one night… what did Leonard think about your run-in with Blackout?”

“Uh…” Barry said.

“...You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Not… in so many words…”

“Bartholomew Henry Allen, what did I tell you about keeping secrets? This is only gonna get harder, you’re just making things worse for yourself - ”

“I know, I know - look, I was gonna tell him. I was!” Barry said defensively in response to Henry’s sceptical look. “I had it all planned out and everything. I got back home after the Baez case, Len and I were having Chinese… I was gonna tell him, and then he went off on this massive tangent about how the Flash is the scourge of the metahuman race and all the metas in the city are afraid of him, and it made me feel terrible. I took a couple of days to think about it, and then Blackout stole my speed, and _then_ I couldn’t tell him because he would’ve thought I was crazy!” He looked pleadingly through the glass. “There wouldn’t be any point in telling him after I lost my powers, right? If I couldn’t give him a demonstration, he wouldn’t believe me. I spent half my life having everyone around me think I was crazy. I don’t want Leonard to think I’m losing it, too.”

“Okay, but you got your powers back last night, so why didn’t you tell him then?”

“After he’d been held at gunpoint? After he watched Eddie get shot? He’d had a long night, I couldn’t spring something like that on him. And this morning he went back to work, so my chance went out of the window. I’m going to tell him, Dad, I swear, it’s just…” He sighed. “It’s crazy, but it feels like fate keeps getting involved. Something out there doesn’t want me to come clean. Something’s trying to tell me that it isn’t the right time…”

“Or you’re afraid to tell him and you’re grasping at straws,” Henry said sternly. “It’s starting to seem like any excuse goes with you. I understand what you’re saying, Barry, and these are valid reasons, but the problem is that there is always gonna _be_ a valid reason. There’s always gonna be some excuse you can make to avoid telling him. You can’t keep putting this off, son. There’s gonna be a big storm if he finds out on his own, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you.”

“I know. And I am gonna tell him. I’m tired of keeping this a secret. Being the Flash is a huge part of my life, and I want Leonard to be a part of that… preferably a part where he doesn’t have to get involved and stays on the sidelines without getting hurt.” Yeah. Like _that_ was gonna happen. Still, a guy could dream.

“I know you think I'm using any excuse not to tell him, and I know that it seems that way. But trust me, I'm getting tired of lying to him - I want to tell him, I do. But this is a huge part of my life. It's a big deal for me. It's kind of like when I came out; I can't rush it. One day soon, the time is gonna be just right. I wanna sit him down and say to him, Leonard, this is who I am. No more hiding. Some day soon I'm gonna be ready, and that perfect moment is gonna come along, and when it does..." Barry looked up and smiled. "I'll know."  
  
Henry sat and watched him for a while, taking in his conviction. "You're right," he said eventually. "It's your decision. It's up to you how and when you tell him. I just hope for your sake that that decision doesn't get taken away from you. You should do what feels right. Trust your gut, slugger. I just hope for both your sakes that it works out. You're good for each other, you and him. Different as chalk and cheese, but you balance each other out. Does me good knowing that you've found him. When you find a love like that, you'd better hold on as tight as you can and don't let go."   
  
"I will," Barry promised. "I'm never letting that man get away from me, don't you worry about that." He grinned. "Not as if he has anywhere to run. I'd follow him to the ends of the earth without breaking a sweat."   
  
"That's my boy," Henry said approvingly. "You keep an eye out for your moment, Barr. I hope it comes soon."   
  
"It will," Barry said confidently. "Any day now. I can feel it."   


~*~

  
Darkness was falling over the city as he ran home, draped around all the trees and buildings like a thin shawl. Street-lamps and car headlights looked like shooting stars as he blew past them, rocketing up and down the streets, zigzagging across the city.   
  
The lights were blazing in their apartment as he headed upstairs; he fitted his key into the lock and let himself in, a warm feeling already spreading to the tips of his toes... and then he opened the door and immediately softened.  
  
Len was passed out on the couch, sleeping soundly as a child. He was sprawled in a customarily ridiculous position, taking up as much space as possible. One arm had fallen limply to his side and an empty beer bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, hanging half an inch off the ground. His feet hung off the end of the couch, heels resting on the armrest. He hadn't taken his boots off.  
  
Gently closing the door, Barry toed off his shoes and took a step further into the room. Len's chin was tucked into his chest, which rose and fell slowly. He looked remarkably peaceful; there was an inherent tension in him that rarely went away, and usually only ever in Barry's company. Even when he slept, there always seemed to be a cleft between his eyebrows, his mouth constantly on the verge of a scowl. Now, he looked unusually at ease. It made Barry smile to see him. 

He wondered when Mick had left. Couldn't have been long; the signs of his presence were still very blatant. You didn’t have to be a CSI to know when Mick Rory had been around; the room still smelled like a bonfire.  
  
Tentatively, Barry moved into the room. Len didn't even stir. He must have been wiped out after work; Barry had never known him to sleep this soundly. Whenever Barry woke up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, no matter how careful he was to be quiet, he'd always pad back into their bedroom to find Len's eyes gleaming at him through the darkness, alert and waiting for him to come back. 

Troubled, Barry moved in closer, just to check he was definitely breathing. It was silly, he knew. Paranoid. But he reached out to touch Len's wrist, lightly pressing his thumb against the pulse point there. It thudded reassuringly against his touch.

Not wanting to risk disturbing him any further, Barry took a careful step back, moving like a ghost. He blurred into their bedroom, retrieved a blanket from one of the drawers and then came back to find that aside from curling in on himself a little more tightly, Len still hadn’t moved from that one spot. Smiling fondly, Barry draped the blanket over him, making sure every inch of him was covered. Then he stepped back to look at him, sleeping peacefully for once. It was a sight he wanted to commit to memory.

Eventually, when he could no longer justify standing around watching his boyfriend sleep any longer - there was a fine line between sweet and scary, Barry figured - he smiled and flitted across the room to switch off the light.

“Night, Lenny,” he whispered, and then he hit the switch and the room was plunged into darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was kind of a filler chapter, since the last chapter was going to be crazy long and i had to split it somewhere - so you're getting a double update :D sorry for the gap between updates, i'm doing assignments for uni right now so my attention is somewhat divided.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of the double update! <3

“I can’t believe you let me fall asleep on the couch,” Leonard said grumpily over his morning cup of coffee.

“Aw, I’m sorry. You just looked so sweet I couldn’t help myself. Besides, you were sleeping like the dead, and how often does that happen?”

Len made a non-committal sound and stared into the black depths of his coffee. His own reflection glowered back at him. Suffice to say that when he met up with Mick the night before, he had not in fact stopped at just one more drink.

Barry, on the other hand, was full of the joys of spring. Bouncing around the apartment chattering nineteen to the dozen, making Len’s head pound even harder. He was trying to make date plans - dinner, a movie, a picnic in the park, which sounded revoltingly cutesy but would at least give Len a chance to work on his finger food; buffet food wasn’t his specialty. Lately it seemed like he hadn’t had much time for cooking. Scowling, he took another sip of coffee. Today he and Mick had to go scope out the museum and start making plans fast, and Mick had drunk even more than Len had. He’d be irascible and impatient, and even less inclined to plan out the finer details than usual. Mick was no imbecile, he knew how to pull off a job, but he preferred to wing it in the heat of the moment, as opposed to Len’s own careful, meticulous planning. They’d come to blows over it before. Too bad; if Mick tried to punch him today, Len was in a foul enough mood that he might not let it slide.

“I gotta admit I’m not sure it’s wise, sleeping in your shoes,” Barry said, wolfing down his third bowl of cornflakes whilst Len watched in disgust. “But who am I to judge?”

“No comment.”

“You look a little stiff,” Barry commented. “Want me to take a look with my magic hands?” He waggled his fingers enticingly.

“I’ll pass,” Len said. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Yeah, Iris wants me to come over and help with her blog, something to do with the coding… I was in Computer Club in high school. Pathetic, I know. Really she’d be better off asking Cisco to help, but who am I to turn down a friend in a time of need?” He grinned. “Plus, I can probably bring home some new pictures of the Flash for you to jerk off over at night, if you ask nicely. Iris always manages to find cool photos.”

“Ooh, you spoil me,” Len said dryly. “Like I said, if you wanna get yourself a tight red suit to wear in the bedroom, _then_ we can start talking.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” Dumping his empty bowl in the sink, Barry said, “anyway, I’d better run. Iris’ blog won’t fix itself!” He kissed Len on the cheek on the way out, making Len roll his eyes and grumble half-heartedly. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Love you too,” Barry teased, and then he was bouncing out of the room in a boundless rush of energy. Len was tired just watching him.

It took a few more cups of coffee and a cold shower, but eventually Len was reasonably alert and his head had quit pounding, so he drove the bike down to Mick’s to swap it out for their latest grubby white van, fresh plates already waiting under the seat. They changed their vehicles regularly for paranoia’s sake, and changed the plates every time they did a job. It was a pain in the ass, but no way in hell was Len going to let himself get caught and sentenced because of a traffic camera.

Mick proved considerably more difficult to rise. He refused to answer the door, so Len broke in through the kitchen window, stormed up to his bedroom and waged war on his sleeping partner. It took some threats, a few jabs with the butt of the cold gun, and a bottle of cold water tipped over his head, but eventually Mick bitterly got out of bed, dressed and drove them to the museum, muttering and sulking the entire time. Len put his feet up on the dashboard. He enjoyed being in charge.

Today’s itinerary involved taking the tour of the museum a time or two; separately and one after the other, to avoid suspicion. Mick went in first, still bad-tempered and bloodshot, to scope out the basics. When he returned, Len would follow and take a closer look at everything Mick mentioned. He’d probably come back a few more times on different days and take the tour again, just to pick up the finer details. Maybe he’d bring Barry, to alleviate suspicion. Kid was a nerd, he’d probably enjoy that sort of thing. As far as Len was concerned, a museum visit was like flipping through a catalogue and deciding exactly what it was he’d like to steal.

While Mick took the tour, Len waited in the van, poring over a newspaper with a copy of the museum’s blueprints taped to the inside. They hadn’t been difficult to procure; all it had taken was a trip into the library, where he’d smooth-talked the librarian and fed her a story about his son who needed a copy of the blueprints for a school project. He’d also requisitioned one of the public computers and done some more research on the market value of tanzanite, careful to keep an online dating website up in another tab, to switch out of anyone came craning their neck. It was risky doing that kind of research in a public place, but less risky than using his very traceable home computer, and Len knew a reasonable amount about covering his tracks online. He was no Cisco Ramon, but he’d made a point of learning some technical subterfuge when the internet started getting big; he knew enough about proxy servers to keep the government from snooping through his search history… as long as they didn’t look too closely.

They switched out after an hour or so; Mick came back in an even worse mood than he’d started, but he’d made a pretty decent list of all the security measures he’d been able to pick up on, and sat marking out camera locations and alarm boxes on the blueprint whilst Len took the tour for himself, enduring fifty-six minutes of an underpaid tour guide waffling on about the riveting history of industry in Central City with glassy-eyed enthusiasm whilst Len’s keen eyes picked out the location of the security desk and calculated the force they’d need to get through the glass surrounding all the exhibits.

The tanzanite, however, was a sight to behold. Gleaming cerulean and polished to a glassy sheen, it was marvellous, a fist-sized chunk of wealth surrounded by a fortress of bulletproof glass. The cheery tour-guide spent several minutes impressing upon them the numerous security measures being used to keep the gemstone safe, whilst Len made extensive mental notes. There would be other security measures, of course, they wouldn’t just spell everything out - but some things were good to know. The density of the glass casing, for example, and the touch-sensitive floor around the display case, roped off to keep people from setting it off. Interesting. Len chewed gum and kept his expression studiously bored, and then the guide led them away to marvel over a collection of old fountain pens which had been bequeathed to a former mayor by some government official or other, and he kept his back to the tanzanite and ignored the eager itch in his fingers, resisting the urge to steal the watch off the wrist of a middle-aged rich mother who stood in front of him the entire time. No use risking the whole operation for a tacky piece of wrist-wear, tempting as it might be.

“Well?” Mick demanded as Len got in. He’d finished marking out security components on the blueprints and started drawing obscene pictures instead.

Admiring an interestingly rendered sketch of a penis that Mick had scrawled in one corner of the blueprint, Len buckled himself in. “This,” he said, “is going to be a good one." 

Security would be through the roof; they wouldn’t want to take any chances of having this jewel robbed, especially with it being on loan. First order of business would have to be taking out the staff. He was thinking of slipping some kind of sedative into the coffee machine in the hallway; security staff lived and breathed caffeine. It’d have to be last thing, though, directly before closing time - otherwise people would get suspicious when everyone started keeling over immediately after drinking the coffee. There were other options - the traditional method of beating them over the head was a speciality of Mick’s, and it was effective, if unsubtle. He’d also have to take out the alarm system beforehand, to keep anyone from sounding the alert when their colleagues started dropping like flies. Len smiled to himself as Mick started up the engine. He liked a challenge. This was what he was made for, after all.

“Where to?” Mick demanded.

“Saints and Sinners. I need to talk to some contacts. We’re gonna need a sedative - and a powerful one.”

“Does this mean I don’t get to punch anyone?”

“Don’t worry. There’ll still be plenty of people for you to punch when we’re through. This is just… insurance.”

“Oh,” Mick said, “Good.”  
  
  


~*~

 

Barry had been set up. He should have seen this coming, really. If Iris needed tech support, there were half a dozen people she could have asked before him - Cisco, of course, or she could have texted Felicity; they’d met at Barry’s post-coma soiree and got along like a house on fire. But Barry had innocently headed to Joe’s place without realising that Wally would be there to help out with the blog, too. Now, he was trying very hard not to openly sulk, while Iris acted innocent and Wally tried to decide whether doing homework was preferable to being forced to hang out with Barry.

“So I guess it’s an issue with the HTML, right?” Iris said. “The hit-counter got stuck a couple days back, it’s hovering around the fifty-thousand mark, but there should be way more views than that. I’m getting more traffic on the page every day, it’s incredible. So many people wanna hear about the Flash. Isn’t it amazing?” She gave a dimpled smile.

“It is pretty cool,” Barry admitted, tapping away at the computer as he tried to fix the coding for her. He had a growing suspicion that Iris knew exactly how to fix it, or at least had more of an idea than she was letting on.  “Sure wish I’d got this much interest when I blogged about Bigfoot.”

“Aw,” Iris said, grinning. “Jealous?”

“You blogged about _Bigfoot_?” Wally snorted.

“Hey, he’s out there,” Barry said. “You wait. One of these days he’s gonna show up, and you’re all gonna regret making fun of me.”

Wally looked wary. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course he’s kidding!” Iris said. She frowned. “Wait, are you?”

“Okay, fixed!” Barry said, swivelling the laptop around to face her. The hit counter on her blog was rapidly ticking higher, numbers rolling over at an impressive rate. “Shouldn’t be a problem now, but I’ll show you how to sort it out in case it gets stuck again - it’s not a difficult piece of coding, a couple of numbers must have got shifted around or something…”

“That is so weird,” Wally said, looking pointedly at his sister. “I wonder how that happened.”

“Yeah, I wonder,” Iris said brightly, then turned her attention back to the screen as Barry talked her through the coding.

“So I guess you’re cool about the Flash thing now, huh?” Wally said as Barry finished up his explanation. “Because you were being a real jerk about it before.”

“Well, I mean, he’s a hero right?” Barry said. “He’s saved a lot of lives. It’d be kind of pigheaded of me to keep hauling him over the coals when he doesn’t deserve it, y’know?”

“I guess,” Wally said. “I’m just glad you’re done arguing about it. I think the Flash is awesome.”

“Everybody loves the Flash,” said Iris. “Even Leonard. Right, Barr?”

“Yeah, Leonard has this little crush on him, actually. It’s kind of adorable. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I’ll keep it zipped,” Wally promised, and he mimed sealing his lips.

Barry smiled, pleasantly surprised. Thus far this was one of the most civil conversations he and Wally had ever had. Apparently the Flash was a good conversation starter.

“Iris, I really don’t get this new post you wrote,” Wally complained, leaning over to point at the laptop screen. “All that stuff about being your own hero? I mean, it’s cool and all, but what if the Flash reads that? He might start thinking we don’t need him any more.”

“Please, the Flash doesn’t have that big of an ego. He won’t take it personally. My point is that the Flash should inspire us to make a change and save the city ourselves, not just sit around waiting for someone else to do it!” Iris said earnestly. “He may have superpowers, but he can’t be everywhere. Ordinary people like you and me and Barry, maybe we can’t save the city from a metahuman, or run people out of a burning building at two hundred miles per hour - but we can still do little things! We can be a different kind of hero. That’s why I write this, you know? To inspire people and spread the word. The Flash is a symbol of hope for this city, and that’s what I wanna be. If even one person reads what I wrote and it inspires them to try to make a difference… that would make _me_ a hero.”

“You already are,” Barry said warmly.

Beaming, Iris tucked her hair behind her ear. Barry felt a warm rush of affection as he watched her blush.

“Yeah, Super-Iris,” Wally teased. “You saved Dad and Leonard from the Clock King. You helped take out Woodward. Maybe you’re a superhero. Hey!” He punched Barry on the arm, making him yelp in protest, then nodded at Iris. “Maybe _you’re_ the Flash,” he grinned, raising his eyebrows at his sister.

Iris rolled her eyes. “The Flash is a skinny white guy. I’ve seen him, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’m still mad about it. Next time I wanna tag along. Maybe he’s taking auditions for a sidekick.” Wally sighed dreamily. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Working alongside the Flash?”

“I dunno,” Barry said. “I still think you should never meet your heroes. That’s just asking for disappointment.”

“Like meeting Doctor Wells?” Wally asked, suddenly serious. “He’s a little creepy, right?”

“Creepy!” Barry said indignantly. “He’s a genius!”

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s creepy. Actually, that just adds to it. He’s like a textbook mad scientist. He could be locked away in the back of that lab doing all kinds of Frankenstein shit and nobody would ever know. He could be a serial killer.”

“Doctor Wells isn’t a _serial killer_ ,” said Barry, who found this joke slightly less than amusing considering that Wells had been indirectly responsible for a number of deaths and rather more directly responsible for Tony Woodward’s death only a few days ago. “He’s a pioneer in his field. He’s a technological mastermind. He’s… he’s…”

“A little creepy,” Iris said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

For a moment Barry could only open and close his mouth in utter indignation, torn between the desire to defend his mentor, and the undeniable truth that actually, Doctor Wells _could_ be a little bit creepy from time to time… and then Wally and Iris burst out laughing.

“Sorry, Barr,” Iris said. “Couldn’t help it. I’m a journalist. The truth is in my nature.”

“Man, your face,” Wally said gleefully. “Come on, admit it! He’s totally creepy, right? I used to watch him looming over your hospital bed and be like, _‘man, I wouldn’t wanna wake up to_ that _guy leaning over me.’_ Couldn’t blame you for staying asleep. It was intense. He’d stare at you for like ten minutes without blinking _once._ ”

“He’s not _that_ bad. Okay, so maybe he’s a little sinister…”

“Leonard hates him,” Iris said.

“Leonard hates everyone,” said Wally.

“He doesn’t! He likes you,” Barry said, only a little sourly. He relented. “He likes Iris. He actually kinda likes Joe, but don’t tell him I said that. Honestly he’s kind of a teddy bear.”

“A grumpy, sulky teddy bear without any hair...”

“This is a dangerous conversation, he could be listening right now,” Iris said. “How do you know he doesn’t bug your phone? He seems like the type.”

“Okay, now you’re just being mean,” Barry said. “And he _does_ have hair, he just shaves it all off.”

“Too much information,” Wally grinned, holding his hands up.

“Ew!” Iris said.

“Please tell me we’re not seriously talking about my boyfriend’s pubic hair,” Barry said.

“Please! Don’t even say those words,” Iris said with a theatrical shudder. “I’m picturing parts of Leonard that I didn’t even wanna think existed.”

“So, the hair on his head’s sorta grey, right?” Wally said. “But, uh. Do the carpets match the drapes?”

“Gross!” Iris protested.

Barry whacked Wally on the shoulder without even thinking about it. Then he paused, unsure whether or not they were at the ‘friendly tussling’ stage yet. After all, before today they’d barely managed to hold a conversation without biting each other’s heads off.

Wally, though, seemed unfazed. He whacked Barry back, and then he pushed back from the table and threw a pretend punch, which Barry countered easily. They started a mock wrestling match, fighting like a couple of puppies whilst Iris looked on, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, okay, I yield!” Wally called, laughing. Barry had managed to twist his arm painlessly behind his back and get him in a headlock, and in spite of his wriggling Wally couldn’t seem to get loose. Grinning, Barry let go of him, and Wally shook himself and backed off. “Man, you’re stronger than you look.”

“Not difficult,” Barry pointed out.

“True.”

“Well if you two are done trying to fight each other, how about we all go down to Jitters?” Iris asked with mock disapproval. She reached for her jacket. “I could murder a doughnut.”

“Sure, but only if everyone agrees right now to stop insulting Leonard,” Barry said.

“Deal, but you guys are paying for the doughnuts,” Wally said. He pointed at himself. “Broke-ass student.”

“We can manage that,” Iris said, linking arms with Barry. “Right?”

“I’m sure I can scrape up the cash from somewhere.”

“Great,” said Wally. “I just gotta go get my jacket from upstairs. Barry, you mind coming with? I wanna talk to you for a second.”

Barry blinked. “Oh. Uh, sure?” He gave Iris a perplexed glance.

“Okay, but if you two start arguing again, I’m putting both of you on a time out,” Iris said sternly, and she gave them both a very severe stare before Wally headed for the stairs with Barry in his wake.

Barry hung back warily when Wally pushed open the door to his room; he’d still never been inside to see firsthand the changes Wally had made. He’d always thought it would hurt his feelings to see himself erased, like he’d never lived here at all… but when he stepped inside, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t so different from what he remembered. Most of the furniture was the same; same desk, same bed, and the decor hadn’t changed much. There had been a repaint, but it was still all muted colours, browns and golds. Wally had hung up a couple of posters, mostly of cars, and there was a noticeboard covered in flashcards and various reminders for school, but Barry could still see the ghost of his old room underneath all of the new touches, and found it wasn’t as painful as he’d expected it to be. After all, he had his own home now.

“Okay, so, uh. I know we’ve had our differences,” Wally said. “And I still don’t know how I feel about you. I’m not saying we can fix things right away. But I do think what I said was harsh, and I wanna try. My dad talked to me after him and Iris were in that incident at the precinct. He said he hated the thought that if he and Iris died, you and me wouldn’t be there for each other. That we’d still be fighting, when we needed each other most. He had a point, I guess. Besides, everyone’s been singing your praises ever since the day I arrived. I figured, if everyone has such good things to say about you, either you can’t be all bad or you’re a pretty good liar.” Wally shoved his hands into his pockets. “So. I was a jerk. So were you. How do you feel about a clean slate? We can try to get along, for their sake.”

Barry considered this. He could throw Wally’s offer back in his face - and it was kind of tempting, in a sense. After all, he hadn’t forgiven nor forgotten everything Wally had said. But if Wally was willing to try...

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Wally said, beaming. “Well I just go find a jacket and then we’ll get going, I guess.”

“Wait,” Barry said. “We do karaoke night every once in a while, me and my friends at S.T.A.R Labs. Eddie and Iris were thinking about coming along to the next one. How about it? You wanna come with?”

“That sounds kinda fun,” Wally said. He paused. “But, uh. I can’t actually sing. I mean I can, but not in public. I do a lot in the shower, but…”

“It’s okay. Neither can Caitlin. Or Iris, but you probably know that. Eddie can kind of carry a tune, and Cisco has a pretty good set of pipes on him, but honestly the bad singing kind of makes it. Besides, it gives you plenty of material to make fun of Iris next time she pisses you off.”

“Okay, sold,” Wally said. “I’ll be there.”

“Are you guys coming, or not? Those doughnuts aren’t gonna eat themselves!” called Iris from downstairs.

“Coming!” they said in unison, and both laughed.

Wally grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on, and they headed down the stairs together. Although it was a little bewildering to be actually getting along with the guy, it was nice, Barry thought. Maybe they could resolve their differences after all - with a little time and effort. Joe would be pleased.

Karaoke night was hardly the greatest method of brotherly bonding, but that way if things started getting weird with him and Wally, he’d have plenty of other people to fall back on for help. Besides, at least he’d made an effort. You had to start somewhere.

Anyway, even if Wally wound up disliking Barry Allen, he certainly liked the Flash. Knowing that helped a whole lot when it came to being civil with him. Everyone was susceptible to flattery, and Barry was no exception. Smiling, he gestured for Wally to go first, and took one last cursory glance around the room. Wally’s room, now. Strangely, he found himself liking the idea that it was being lived in again, not just abandoned and left to gather dust the way it had when he first moved out.

With a small smile on his face, Barry headed downstairs to join Wally and Iris in their quest for doughnuts.


	34. Chapter 34

"You're sure I can't change your mind?"  
  
"Yes, Barry, I'm sure you can't change my mind," Len said as he did the last few checks of his equipment. "Much as it pains me to miss out on an evening of auditory hell with you and your little friends... duty calls." He shouldered his duffle bag, feeling the reassuring weight of the cold gun buried within. "One night of exposure to Snow's terrible singing was more than enough for me." 

Barry lounged artfully on the sofa in sweatpants and a baggy S.T.A.R Labs shirt, where for the past half hour he’d been half-heartedly trying to convince Leonard to ditch work and come to karaoke night instead. They both knew it was a losing battle - although horrifyingly, Len might actually have agreed to come if he hadn’t had another engagement - but Barry was still teasingly trying to talk him into it, draped across the sofa with his hair slightly mussed and a coy smile on his face. Rolling his eyes, Len grabbed his keys off the side.

“You work too hard,” Barry complained. “You’ve been out every night this week.”

This particular heist had taken a lot of planning, it was true. “Someone has to. Gotta bring the money in from somewhere. How else am I gonna keep on filling that black hole you call a stomach?”

“Yeah, but all work and no play makes Leonard a very dull boy.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to play later,” Len promised. “Anyway, sounds like you could stand to take a leaf outta my book. Your Captain tells me you’ve been a very bad boy. Skiving won’t pay the bills, you know.”

Barry stuttered, “I - what? Me? I would  _ never -  _ ” 

“Alright, Buster Keaton, don’t overdo it,” Len said. “You’re a horrible liar. You better work on that one; I doubt it’ll slide with Captain Singh.” He covertly checked his wash. Forty minutes til he was supposed to meet Mick. “I gotta go.”

“Have a great day at the office, honey. Clear those cobwebs, scrub the floors… make those spiders fear your name.”

“Always do,” Len said. “I’ll see you around.”

“Hey,” Barry said.

Len turned, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?”

“A kiss for good luck, maybe. Your ears are gonna need it.” But he obligingly crossed the room and leaned in.

Barry surprised him by twining his fingers in the collar of Len’s jacket and dragging him down, deepening the kiss. For a moment he allowed himself to be lost in the moment, his lips moving with Barry’s, gentle and affectionate. Closing his eyes, Len kissed him back, trying to dampen that flutter which warned him that he might not come back from this. It was always a concern with the jobs he did, that he might wing his way home to Barry in a casket, or else end up only seeing him again from the wrong side of a plexiglass window at Iron Heights. With this pessimistic thought in mind, he gripped the back of Barry’s neck and kissed him breathless - and when he broke away, it was with a flare of regret. Firmly, he quelled it. No use getting sentimental. He’d find his way back to Barry in one piece. He always did. 

“What was that for?” Barry asked, pleasantly surprised. Evidently he’d only been expecting a peck.

“Like I said. Karaoke night with Snow. You’re gonna need all the luck you can get.”

“It’s Wally I reckon I’m gonna need help with, actually. But I’ll handle it.” Barry smiled fondly. “You going, or not?”

“So anxious to get rid of me! I’m leaving, don’t worry. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”

He rode his bike across town to meet Mick at the agreed rendezvous point on the outskirts of the city, and they sat going over the plan for half an hour or so until Mick started getting irritable and Leonard was convinced that they had memorised all the details they could. Everything else was down to chance. Something would go wrong, of course. It almost always did.

They went to park in the museum’s parking lot, paid an offensive sum of money for the privilege, and made sure they were out of view of the surveillance cameras that surrounded the parking lot. Then Mick went on a junk food run whilst Len sat and waited for the sun to go down, watching the lot slowly empty of visitors. People pulled away in droves, all hammering on their horns and swearing at the congestion in the lot. Len kept sharp eyes on the cars that remained. When Mick returned, armed with several greasy bags of takeout, they sat and ate in amicable silence. Crumbs sprayed the interior of the van. Mick flicked his lighter distractedly on and off, and the last few cars slowly filtered out of the parking lot.

Then a van drove up. Not dissimilar to their own in design, with two passengers; men in overalls emblazoned with the museum’s logo. Len and Mick exchanged glances and got out of the van. Mick hung back whilst Len pretended to tie his bootlace, watching the men get a decent distance from their vehicle - still just out of sight of the CCTV cameras - and then he called out, jogging over with a sheepish look on his face.

“Excuse me! Hey!”

The first man turned, frowning. “The museum’s closed down for the night, buddy. You’d better get going, the lot’s gonna get locked down for the night if you don’t head out.”

Len had the utmost confidence in his ability to hack the lock on the entranceway to the parking lot if it came to it - but it wouldn’t. His observations had taught him that all the employees would both have a key card giving them unhindered access to the museum and its facilities, including the front gate. These two charming gentlemen would be able to help him with that.

Smiling again, he said, “I know, it’s late, I’m sorry… I was just wondering if you’d seen my dog.”

“Your dog?”

“Tiny thing. Brown, silky ears. Big fluffy tail. He’s adorable. I tied him up outside while I went inside to use the bathroom, and when I came back out… guess I didn’t tie him tight enough. His leash must have slipped off the railing.” He gave them an embarrassed shrug. 

“You shouldn’t be leaving an animal tied up outside like that, sir,” the other janitor said sympathetically. “There’s been a whole lot of crime in this city lately. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your dog’s most likely gone by now. Cute little puppy like that, someone could’ve easily taken him.”

“You think so?” Len said, feigning worry. 

“‘Fraid so, buddy.”

“That’s awful. My partner’s gonna be so upset. He loves the little guy.” He gave his best impression of Barry’s most distraught look, struggling internally with the desire to laugh. “How am I gonna tell him I lost little Mickey?”

“We could check the security cameras for you,” one of the men offered. 

“Oh, you would? Thank you,” Len said. “So there’s a camera by the entranceway? I didn’t see that on the way in.”

“Yeah, there are cameras at all the entrances. One of the should’ve picked up a shot of your dog, or at least got a glimpse of who took him.”

“Good to know,” Len said. “I’d hate to think I’d lost my dog for good. He’s a good boy. Always comes when I call.” Then, he looked over the first janitor’s shoulder. “Oh look. Here he is now.”

The man frowned, and turned just as Mick’s fist slammed directly into his face. The man staggered, and Mick jammed the heat gun into his face, cooking the man’s head in a short burst of flame.

Meanwhile Len grabbed the second janitor, seized his head and slammed it down to meet Len’s knee. The man’s fell dizzily to the pavement, and Len brought the cold gun from behind his back and shot him. Cold air drifted up from the corpse. He turned back to Mick, who was glowering as he hauled his own victim up off the ground.

“Messy,” Len commented, eyeing the havoc Mick had wrought on the man’s face. His skull now strongly resembled a burned meatball.

Ignoring the criticism, Mick said, “You call me your puppy again and you’ll be joining these assholes in the back of that van.”

They slung the two bodies in the back and climbed inside. From then it was a fairly efficient process to strip them down and change into their uniforms. Len straightened his museum overalls and checked the contents of his pockets. The ID card in his wallet named him as Pat Pyzynski; Mick’s new name was Gerald Folkner. The photos on their ID looked nothing like either of them, but both their victims had shaved heads and were of a similar build, although Mick stolen overalls were rather tight across the chest.

Len and Mick locked the victims in the van and left the key in the ignition; they had a new getaway car now, and the stolen keys jingled cheerily in Len’s pocket. Then they headed for the side entrance, keeping a safe distance until Len scoped out the camera peeking out from behind a trash can. A quick blast of the cold gun took care of that problem, and then they were inside, skulking down the corridor with their heads down.

About halfway down the corridor they spotted an employee coming in the opposite direction; a security guard, kitted out in a fancy blue sweater and headed their way. A novice might have panicked and fled. Len and Mick kept walking. Perfectly collected, they kept going until they were level with the man, and then Len said, “Excuse me.”

The man paused questioningly.

“My friend and I are new here,” Len said smoothly. “First day on the job. Gotta make a good impression. We’re supposed to meet the boss in the security control room in ten minutes, could you point us in the right direction?”

“Sure,” said the man. “Keep going to the end of the hallway, then turn left. Take the third door on your right, and you should find a room marked ‘Staff Only’. That’s where you wanna be. There’s a passcode to get through the door; the number’s four-four-three-five.”

“Much obliged,” said Len, and shot him in the face.

The cold gun sizzled menacingly in the aftermath of the blast; the man slumped to the floor with a blackened crater where his face had been, smoking slightly with the cold. Len re-holstered his gun and kept walking, Mick hot on his heels.

“What an idiot,” he said. 

Within minutes they had reached the control room. Len punched in the code with his gloved hand, and they stepped inside. Another security guard was sitting in front of a bunch of screens, each depicting footage from various points around the building. Twisting around, he frowned and then his gaze flickered down to the gun holstered at Mick’s hip, and he opened his mouth to yell.

Len hit him in the head with the cold gun, sending him collapsing forwards. His head slammed into the keyboard at the desk, and then Len dragged him out of his chair and the cold gun buzzed with glee as it blew another smoking hole in the man’s skull. Abandoning the corpse on the floor, Len took a seat in the leather chair at the control desk and cracked his knuckles.

“When do I get to shoot someone?” Mick growled. 

“Just as soon as I’ve disabled all the alarms. Last thing we need is to get our cover blown by the fire department. Your gun smokes like a chimney. Watch the door.”

With a surly stare, Mick went to stand by the door with his gun out whilst Len tapped away at the controls. First thing he did was wipe the footage for the entire building for the past thirty minutes, to be sure any trace of Mick and himself had been erased from the system. Then he switched off all of the cameras one by one, watching the little squares on the screen go grey one by one with great satisfaction. Once he’d done that, it was just a case of disabling all of the alarms, including the motion and touch sensors around the tanzanite. The smoke detectors were the last to go, and then he pushed back in his chair, got up and scanned the room to find the fuse box.

It was high up on the far wall; he stood on the desk to flip all the little switches, and then the entire museum was plunged into darkness. He’d had to disable all of the alarms before taking out the power, in case there was some kind of security failsafe triggered to go off in the event of a power outage. Replacing the panel on the fusebox, he pretended to dust his palms and gave Mick a smug look.

“Smartass,” said Mick.

Len just smirked and led the way out through the doorway.

With the corridors dark, they took things slow, but they had a number of advantages over all of the employees blundering around in the dark. Firstly, they knew what was happening, so they had no reason to panic. Secondly, they were armed. And thirdly, there were two of them.

They came across their first employee after a minute or two in the dark. The man called out to them, shining his torch in their direction. Mick shot him, flames licking down the man’s outstretched arm, the heat from the gun making the air shimmer. There was a moment of screaming, and then Mick ramed the guy into the wall with his elbow and finished him off with a vicious blow to the head. He dropped like a stone.

One down. Twelve more to go. Len had checked the figures moving across the screens before they killed the cameras, and had a quick flick through the database to see which employees were working tonight. There were two guards in each quadrant and a couple more janitors. Nothing challenging. 

They moved through the building like a couple of shadows, looming out at the employees from the dark. Each one was subdued with no more than a handful of blows, himself and Mick working together in perfect synchronicity that only came from years of partnership. Len could punch a guard and know that Mick would be there to catch him and ram his head into the wall; when Mick kicked a janitor into Len’s path, Len finished him off with a blast from the gun. 

It took twenty minutes to take them all out, and by the time it was done, Len had worked up a good sweat and was panting with the effort. A grin spread across his face. Mick met his gaze and grinned right back, and then they were moving together, heading to the heart of the museum where they kept the tanzanite exhibit.

The room was dark, and Len’s eyes strained against the gloom. Mick set fire to a mannequin in ugly period dress to provide them some light, and the smell of old lace and silk burning drifted through the room as the two of them approached the cordoned off glass case where the tanzanite lay nestled on a velvet cushion like an egg in a nest.

Mick reached for it, but Len wordlessly held up a hand. He circled the exhibit like a shark, taking in every inch of its casing, eyeing the floor around it. Although he’d deactivated the proximity alarm and the touch-sensitive partition of the flooring, you couldn’t be too careful. Ducking underneath the ropes surrounding the exhibit, he took a second to check for additional alarms, some kind of extra failsafe… a booby trap, maybe. He came up blank. Slowly, he reached for the case. 

The plan had gone beautifully so far. If it were going to go to shit at any point, it would be now. Tensing, Len laid a gloved hand on the glass.

No alarms. No blaring screams overhead, no flashing lights… no sudden flicker of lightning in the corner of his eye as the scarlet speedster came to intervene. Just his own dry throat and hammering heart, and Mick Rory stood watching him in impassive silence.

Slowly, Len lifted the glass box up and away, placing it carefully on the ground. His fingers closed around the tanzanite, solid as a paperweight. He drew it out, held it up for Mick to see in the flickering light.

Twin grins spread across their faces. Breathlessly Len started laughing. It echoed strangely around the room, bouncing back at them from all directions, and when Mick joined him it sounded almost maniacal. Len laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, his own brazen cheek. Waltzing straight into the museum to steal one of the most priceless gems in the country. He must be mad. 

He tossed the gem to Mick, who caught it and weighed it in his hand before polishing it on his overalls. Then he crammed it into his pocket, which bulged like a kangaroo’s pouch.

“Let’s get moving,” he said. 

“In a second.”

“We’re on a heist, not a day trip,” Mick growled. “You wanna look around, come back during the daylight.”

Len ignored him. Moving back towards the display case, he pulled out the little business card he’d stowed away in his pocket. He’d never expected to make it this far. He was a meticulous planner, but even the best laid plans went awry, and he was sure luck wouldn’t be on his side. Even so, he’d come prepared. 

He’d had the card printed specially on crisp creamy paper, with sharp edges and stark black lettering. He’d even had a snowflake printed in the centre. It was showy and needlessly dramatic, but he thought of the look on the Flash’s face when he found Leonard’s calling card, and almost laughed all over again. Carefully laying the card in the same place where the tanzanite had sat, he took a second to get the positioning perfect, propped up at a jaunty angle with its message clear to see. Then he took a step back to admire his handiwork.

“Are you done yet?” Mick demanded.

“I’m done,” said Len, and he lifted the glass casing back into place, getting it perfectly back into position. 

Still no alarms, no siren call. Just the sound of the burning mannequin and their own unsteady breathing. With a satisfied nod, Len turned his back on the empty case and marched off back down the hallway.

“Exit’s this way,” Mick said as Len made a sharp right turn down the hallway.

“We gotta make a pitstop.”

“What kind of a pitstop?”

“Just a small one. Can’t make things too easy for ourselves, after all. Where’s the fun in that?”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“If I tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise. Don’t you worry,” Len said, slinging the cold gun over his shoulder. “We’ll be long gone before the fun starts. I left a little message for our red friend, and I’m going to make certain that he gets it.”

 

~*~

 

“Oh man, tell me you didn’t!” Cisco said gleefully.

“I did!” said Wally. “Me and Joe, we walked right in on Leonard and Barry eating face on the sofa. It was  _ nasty.  _ They couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds from taking things to the bedroom.”

“Dude, I can’t believe it!” Cisco said, giving Barry a stern look. “That’s such a bad breach of etiquette. You don’t start making out on the couch when you’ve got guests coming over! Who raised you?”

“I didn’t know they were coming over! Leonard set me up!”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Wally said slyly, slapping him on the back.

They were all crowded around a tiny table at the same bar where Caitlin had brutally murdered her way through a rendition of ‘ _ Summer Lovin’ _ . A still-fragile Eddie, underage Wally and alcohol-immune Barry were all stuck on lemonade, but Cisco, Caitlin and Iris had all let their hair down a little. Cisco was flushed and bright eyed; Iris and Caitlin were giggly and hanging on to each other. It warmed Barry’s heart to see.

The karaoke section of the evening was in full-swing; a few different people had been up to strut their stuff, and most of them unequivocally sucked. That was putting it kindly. Eddie was crying off performing due to his gunshot wound, but Iris and Caitlin had rushed up onstage to sing a wobbly rendition of ‘ _ Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart’ _ , laughing hysterically the whole time. Wally filmed it on his phone, grinning from ear to ear. Cisco gamely got onstage to belt out ‘ _ Purple Rain’,  _ impressing the entire bar. There was a brief break in the interim, whilst everyone bought more drinks in preparation for more awful singing. It was in this short pause that Wally had decided to start ribbing Barry about that time he and Joe had walked in and found Len doing his best to get Barry off hands-free on the couch. Mortified, Barry tried to change the subject.

“We should probably go up soon, before people start fighting over the mic,” he said, nodding at the stage.

“Nah, we got time.” Wally sipped his lemonade. “Speaking of Leonard, why isn’t he here? I bet he can sing okay. You two could do a duet.”

“Leonard? Singing? Get real,” said Caitlin.

“He does sing, actually,” said Barry. “He’s pretty good. But he’d never do it in front of anyone.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Iris said, playfully elbowing her brother in the ribs.

“Shh,” Wally said.

“Aw, it’s okay! He’s shy,” she said conspiratorially. “He’s got a great voice, but you’ll never get him up there.”

“Oh, that’s so cute!” Caitlin said, reaching out to pinch his cheek.

Mortified, Wally batted her away. “Iris! Shut up. I’m not  _ shy,  _ I don’t sing much in front of other people, that’s all.”

“Well it’s about time you did! You’ve got a good voice, Wally. Hell, Caitlin and I went up there.”

“Yeah, and all the neighbourhood cats are in fear of their lives,” Barry teased. “They’re gonna think there’s a serial killer on the loose, strangling poor innocent kittens to the tune of Elton John.”

Outraged, Iris elbowed him. “Shut up! I don’t see you fighting to get up there.”

“I will… if Wally comes with me.” Barry tilted his head. “How about it? Me and you, we’ll go make fools of ourselves together. One for all…”

“And all for one!” yelled Caitlin and Iris, and then they clinked glasses and burst out laughing.

“As long as you promise not to ditch me,” Wally said.

“Pinky promise. What do you wanna sing?”

Wally thought for a minute. “How about ‘ _ Don’t Stop Believin’? _ I hear white people go crazy for that shit.”

“It’s true!” Caitlin screeched.

“That,” said Eddie with great dignity, “is a stereotype.”

“It really isn’t. White people go hard for  _ ‘Don’t Stop Believin’, _ ” Barry said. “It’s basically the law.”

“That settles it!” said Iris. “You two have to go up there.”

“Not yet,” Cisco said.

“What? Why not now? It’s perfect, no one’s got the mic.”

“Trust me, we’re connoisseurs of karaoke night at this point. You wanna wait a little while, til things start to get busy. Barry’s getting famous around here; once things pick up a little, that’s when we wanna send him up there. People always wanna buy him drinks. Free vodka, baby!” Cisco raised his glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” said Wally.

“You will  _ not _ . You are underage,” Iris said severely.

Wally poked out his tongue. “Whatever, mom. Give me a break!”

“There is a cop sitting at this table.”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” Eddie said, covering his ears. Abruptly, he jumped as Iris kicked him under the table. “Um, I mean…. Shame on you, young man, for flaunting your intentions of underage drinking in front of an officer of the law.”

“Aw, Eddie, c’mon - ”

“No vodka,” Iris said.

“Is tequila okay? Ow!” Wally protested as she shoved him. 

They sat talking and laughing whilst the bar steadily filled, until they were having to practically yell to make themselves heard. At this point Cisco decreed that it was time to send Barry onstage, and he and Wally started heading up to the front. Wally was grinning, but was also visibly jittery. Barry clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’ll be great, I swear,” he called. “Ritualistic humiliation is all part of the fun.”

“I’ll go on first,” said Wally. “Get ‘em all warmed up for your big entrance. You come in on the second verse, knock their socks off. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Barry answered, giving him a thumbs up. “You got this.”

Grinning, Wally jogged over to the karaoke machine to find their song. Meanwhile, Barry leaned up against the bar, glancing fondly over at his friends. They all waved manically. Laughing, Barry waved back, and then his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He answered, plugging his free ear with his finger to try and tune out some of the background noise.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“There’s been an alarm triggered at the Central City museum,” said Doctor Wells.

Barry’s heart sank. “...What?”

“I had Cisco hook us up to the security systems of most of the city’s hotspots. We just got an alert from the museum. There’s been an accident on the other side of the city that’s taken up most of the CCPD’s resources; they won’t get there in time.”

“Doctor Wells, I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Much as I hate to disrupt your evening, Mr. Allen, there has been a disturbance and chances are there is a robbery ongoing at this very moment. You wanted to be a hero. Sometimes heroism means making sacrifices, and I’m afraid the criminal population of this city does not make exceptions for Karaoke Fridays.” 

Barry closed his eyes.  _ Fuck.  _ He knew Wells was right, he couldn’t just let some assholes rob the museum because he didn’t wanna miss karaoke night. The Flash needed to be seen as a figure of hope, not a figure of uncertainty. If he was needed, he had to be there. But for crying out loud, could the thieves not have waited five more minutes? 

“I’m on it,” he said, and hung up the phone. Then he glanced around for Wally, who was nowhere to be seen. Craning his neck, Barry scanned the entire room, but he couldn’t see Wally anywhere. He grimaced and jogged over to where Cisco was stood at the bar, waving a twenty dollar bill caught between his two forefingers.

“Man, am I ever gonna get served?” Cisco complained, tapping his money on the bar. “I’m getting thirsty over here. You think I should show him my boobs?” He grinned, then saw Barry’s apologetic expression. “You okay?”

“I gotta run,” Barry said. “There’s a problem at the museum. Doctor Wells called; our red friend’s gotta run an errand, he might need a little help.”

“What? Dude, you can’t bow out now! Wally’s about to sing!”

“Cover for me, okay? I’ll be as fast as I can.”

Before Cisco could make any further argument, Barry made a beeline for the door. He hurried out onto the street just in time to hear the first few notes of  _ ‘Don’t Stop Believin’  _ reverberate through the building; guilt squeezed his stomach. God, he owed Wally for this.

A quick detour to S.T.A.R Labs to retrieve his suit, and then Barry was bursting in through the front doors of the museum. Immediately, he stopped dead; he was running blind, the whole building plunged into darkness. Blinking hard, he squinted into the black. The whole place was eerily silent, with none of the ambient humming he associated with functioning electronics. Without windows past the foyer, he couldn’t see where he was going. For a moment he waited for his eyes to adjust, but when he was sure his vision was the best it was gonna get, he squared his shoulders and started running again, shooting up and down the corridors to try and locate the thief.

He was speeding down an empty hallway when he collided with something large and heavy on the floor; he almost went flying and had to use his speed to catch himself, throwing his hands out just in time to keep from face-planting the floor. Gasping, he righted himself.

_ “What’s happening?” _ Wells’ voice crackled over the comms.

“There’s something here,” Barry said, and he knelt by the obstruction. 

He could make out the vaguest of outlines in the dark. Reaching out, he tried to touch it, going by feel, tracing the shape… and then his heart sank. 

“It’s a body,” he said in a low voice. 

He felt around, trying to feel for a pulse through the fabric of his gloves. Nothing. The body was cold. 

“Dead,” he said grimly.

In the darkness he had very little way to determine the cause of death, but he felt around and could identify no signs of blunt force trauma. No bumps on the head, no smell of blood. The body lay face down, so Barry carefully flipped it over, ran his fingers over the face - and cringed. The texture was off. Crunchy. Bits cracked and flaked away underneath his touch, and it was cold, colder than an ordinary body. The realisation hit hard.

“Frostbite,” he relayed over the comms. “It’s bad. This guy’s had his face blown off. There’s only one thing I know of that can cause an injury like that.” He got to his feet. “Captain Cold. He’s here.”

“Proceed with caution,” Wells warned him. “And remember, if he hits you with a concentrated blast, keep vibrating. The gun is designed to reduce your speed by slowing down your molecules; you generate a tremendous amount of heat by moving as quickly as you do. If he tries to freeze you, the vibrations of your body should help to disperse the cold.”

Setting his jaw, Barry started moving again - at an ordinary pace this time. Warily, he wandered through the dark, listening hard. Every breath he took seemed obscenely loud, the pounding of his heart like a drumbeat announcing his arrival. The gloom never became less ominous. 

As he explored, he came across more bodies. Each one, he examined cursorily before moving on. Checked for life signs, found none. Cold had been thorough. No survivors, no witnesses.

After the third or fourth body, he found a discrepancy with some of the victims. The first few had all been frozen to death, their bodies plunged to a temperature too low for them to cope with - but then he smelled overdone pork and woodsmoke, and overturned a body that had been burnt to a crisp. Choking, Barry turned away. What an awful way to go. 

“He’s not alone,” he said quietly. 

Iris had seen Cold’s partner on the night when they came to save her at the elementary school, and Barry knew he had one, but knowing they were both here did nothing to calm his nerves. It did, however, anger him. Two of them armed with powerful super-weapons, against a bunch of unarmed civilians who were just doing their jobs. Although it was hard to tell in the dark, none of the victims bore any defensive marks that Barry could find. They had all been taken by surprise, had no chance to put up a fight. Cruelly snuffed out like candles without more than a few seconds of warning. Barry shook his head. 

He discovered a few more bodies, like a gruesome breadcrumb trail leading deeper and deeper into the museum. Then, he tensed. Light spilled out of a room at the end of the hallway, illuminating the walls. It reflected off the paintings in their glass cases on the walls, flickering unevenly. For a moment, Barry held his breath. 

He exploded into the room, letting his lightning flare wide and sparks fly, hoping to make an entrance and startle Cold and his accomplice into fleeing. But the room was empty, devoid of movement, and although Barry did a few rapid circles of the area, he could see no signs of habitation. No crooks hiding behind exhibits or waiting to jump out from a corner, no one stealing exhibits. The room seemed untouched, aside from the light source, a mannequin blazing merrily in one corner, its clothing almost scorched away to nothing. Frowning, Barry moved closer. It had been burning for a while, the dummy almost completely blackened. 

There was no salvaging the dummy’s clothing at this point; that was one historical artefact the museum hadn’t a hope in hell of restoring. Barry turned away and tapped his earpiece. “There’s no one here,” he said in a low voice. “They’ve been and gone.”

_ “Check again, _ ” Wells ordered.  _ “They could be hiding elsewhere in the building.” _

“There’s no one here, Doctor Wells. They set a fire, but it’s been burning for a while.” Barry edged further into the room. “I don’t think they took anything. Everything seems to be…” He trailed off.

His attention had been caught by a gleaming display case in the centre of the room, set aside from everything else. It was clearly supposed to be the centrepiece, prettily roped off and polished to a gleam, but the part that grabbed his attention was that there didn’t seem to be anything inside it. Slowly, Barry drew closer.

No. There was something. A small square of white card, embossed with stark, slender black lettering.

_ “Tell me what you see,”  _ Wells said.

“They left something behind,” Barry said, intrigued. “A card…”

He moved in closer. His gaze flickered over the little placard in front of the case, which proudly proclaimed the exhibit to showcase one of the world’s largest pieces of tanzanite, an incredibly rare gemstone renowned for its unusuality and the quality of its colouring. The tanzanite, claimed the placard, was on loan from a museum in Gotham and viewable for a limited time only.  _ A very limited time,  _ Barry thought grimly, because unless it was far smaller than the placard was giving it credit for, there was no gemstone inside that case. Captain Cold clearly had an eye for large, flashy things. He’d gone straight for the jackpot, completely ignoring the far less rare and traceable items displayed in the exhibit. Shaking his head at the man’s shamelessness, Barry leaned in to read the little piece of card propped up inside the display. 

It was a business card, he realised. High-quality. In elegant black lettering, it read,

 

**ALL THAT SPEED AND YOU STILL CAN’T CATCH ME.**

**BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME.**

 

Just underneath it, embossed in silver, was a snowflake. Barry shook his head in utter awe at the man’s cheek. He was actually taunting him. Barry almost wanted to laugh. 

“He’s gone,” he reported. “Probably before I even arrived. He planned this whole thing. They got what they came for. Tanzanite,” he read off the placard. “It’s rare. And expensive. He’s got a good eye, this Captain Cold.”

“ _ You’re certain he’s already left the building? _ ”

“Unfortunately. He left me a message; he knew I’d find it.” He blew out a disbelieving breath. “He’s got style, I’ll give him that. And a whole lot of nerve.”

“ _That’s one way of describing it,_ ” Wells said dryly. “ _It seems you’ve had a wasted trip. I’ll put in an anonymous tip-off at the precinct, have them send someone to collect the bodies. The whole museum will have to be closed off."_  

Barry was only half-listening. He moved in closer towards the exhibit, close enough for his breath to mist the glass. Eyed his golden-orange reflection flickering away in the firelight. It made his eyes gleam gold. He eyed the card inside. 

“ _ You said he left you a message. Is there any chance of analysing the handwriting? _ ”

“No,” Barry said. “It’s typed. Nothing to identify him but the snowflake. I doubt it’d mean anything to anyone else.”

There was no reason for him to take it. There were no identifiers, no handwriting to examine. Any printing company could rustle up a card like that. All it would take would be to waltz into a print shop with a little bit of nerve and a winning cover story, and he was sure Cold would have had no problems mustering either. There was a slim hope that there might be fingerprints on the card, but Captain Cold was meticulous. A planner. He wouldn’t have let a small detail like that slip between his fingers. No, the card was useless - just a taunt, designed to infuriate. There was no reason for him to have it.

But he wanted it. It seemed private, in a way. Not something he should share. Certainly not something he wanted the CCPD to pore over, to seal away in a ziplock bag and catalogue away as evidence. 

It was for him. 

Every one of his CSI’s instincts was screaming at him - tampering with a crime scene, interfering with evidence, any disturbance could screw with the investigation, he could be destroying this entire crime scene for the sake of his own burning curiosity - but he couldn’t just leave it there for prying eyes. 

“ _ What are you doing?”  _ Doctor Wells asked.

Barry reached out. The glass casing was surprisingly light. He lifted it away, placed it on the ground within the perimeter of rope around the display. The card sat mockingly on its little cushion, daring him to take it. He reached out and plucked it from its resting place, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. 

A siren shattered the silence, shrieking obnoxiously. Barry yelped and covered his ears, and then the lights all came on full blast, flooding the room with a painful influx of brightness. Squinting, Barry took a step back, and then the rest of the alarms started blaring. The whole building sounded like it was screaming, vibrating to its very foundations. Every alarm in the place was howling at him, including the smoke detectors, and then the sprinkler systems came on and a deluge of water exploded at him from the ceiling, soaking him to the bone. Bewildered, Barry reeled backwards.

“ _ What’s happening? _ ” Wells demanded.

“I don’t know, something triggered the alarms!” Barry yelled. “I don’t know what’s happening!”

“ _Get out of there._ _Run!_ ” Wells shouted.

Barry didn’t need telling twice. He tore out of there like the hounds of hell were after him, his head ringing, the dripping wet calling card still hanging from between his fingers. 

He burst back into S.T.AR. Labs sopping wet, flushed with embarrassment and with his ears still protesting from the assault of all those alarms. Wells gave him a very unimpressed look, and went to fetch a towel.

“He set me up,” Barry said bitterly as he towelled down his hair. The Flash suit had many merits, but apparently being waterproof was not one of them. “I don’t know how the hell he did it, but somehow he reconfigured the entire alarm system to go off the second I picked up that card. He left me a  _ booby trap.  _ That  _ asshole. _ ”

“It was certainly an impressive piece of engineering,” Wells mused. “One can only assume he left with some haste to be sure he’d be out of the way before your arrival, and triggered the last alarm on the way out.”

“No,” Barry said. “He’s too smart for that. He set that first alarm off on purpose to lure me in. He set everything up to make me look like an idiot. It worked.” Scowling, he blurred back into his normal clothes, hanging up the dripping wet suit with very poor grace. 

Wells watched in silence as Barry attempted to dry himself at superspeed, feeling rather like a wet dog shaking itself all over the floor. The worst part about it was that he’d fallen right into the trap, made a complete and utter fool of himself, and Cold was holed up somewhere safe and sound and probably laughing his ass off, knowing damn well that Barry had taken the bait. His cheeks burned.

Throwing the towel across the room, where it landed on an empty chair in a heap, Barry said bitterly, “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. I’m the fastest man alive, and yet he’s always one step ahead of me. I’ve never even come close to catching him. He’s running rings around me and he knows it.” He turned away. “What do I do, Doctor Wells? How do I catch him? I don’t know who he is, or where he’s gonna show up next, or how to find him. All I can do is wait for him to find me. Every time we meet, it’s on his terms. He has the advantage, and I’ve got nothing. I hate it.”

“You short-change yourself, Mr. Allen. And you short-change all of us. Cold may have the upper hand in the sense that he has a greater idea of your shortcomings and more ways to lure you in - but you have other things. You have your speed, for one. Take that gun from him, and he’s nothing more than - ”

“A criminal mastermind,” Barry said sourly.

“An  _ unarmed  _ criminal mastermind,” Wells corrected. “Wits will only take one so far. And on that note, another advantage you have: Cold has an accomplice - one might go so far as to call him a lackey, since he doesn’t seem to take much initiative of his own - but you have allies. Myself. Cisco and Caitlin. All of us possessed of considerable brainpower and plenty of resources. No matter how smart your Captain Cold may be, I’m sure he cannot hold a candle to the combined brainpower of all four of us.” Wheeling closer, Wells reached out to touch Barry’s arm. “You are not alone, Barry. S.T.A.R Labs will stand beside you with this. We will bring this man to justice, believe me.”

Barry nodded and looked away. Easier said than done, especially in the face of his stinging defeat. He had no idea what Captain Cold’s voice might sound like, but he could practically  _ hear  _ the man laughing at him.

“Though I doubt it’ll bring you much comfort in the interim,” Wells added, removing his hand, “take this as a positive. The more times Captain Cold sees you defeated, the more his confidence will grow. He’ll see you as an easy target, he’ll begin to take risks. His arrogance will be his undoing. He’ll underestimate you. And when he does, we can use it against him.”

Barry rubbed his eyes. “Thanks, Doctor Wells,” he said wearily. “I’d better get back to the bar. Wally’s gonna kill me for ditching him halfway through karaoke night.”

“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning.”

In a flurry of loose papers that took flight in the turbulence of his exit, Barry left, wishing that Wells’ words had done more to ease the discomfort in the pit of his stomach. 

The table where his friends had sat was empty by the time Barry got back to the bar, with only a cluster of empty glasses left behind to show that anyone had been there at all. For a moment, Barry stood and stared. Then he crossed the room to check for belongings, any sign of where they’d gone. He came up blank, and there wasn’t so much as a missed call or text on his phone to let him know where they’d disappeared to. Bewildered, he massaged his forehead - and then a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned just in time to spot Wally staring at him from across the room, visibly fuming. Giving Barry a filthy look, he turned his back on him and stormed out.

“Wally?” Barry called. “Hey!”

He gave chase, calling Wally’s name the whole way as he jogged across the room, weaving in and out of drunken revellers in an attempt to catch up. Wally ignored him, and Barry had to fight the urge to put on a burst of real speed to help him out. It was maddening to keep up that languorous jog, but he managed to intercept Wally just before he crossed the street, grabbing his shoulder. Furiously, Wally threw him off.

“Wally, look - I know I screwed up - ”

“You know what?” said Waly. “I get it: you don’t like me. Fine, I’ll deal with that. But this was low, even for you.”

“What?”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? That was a dick-move, I hope you realise that. If you didn’t want to call a truce, you should’ve just said so. You didn’t have to try to make me humiliate myself in front of a room full of people to get your point across.”

“Wait, you think I ditched you on  _ purpose? _ There was an emergency at S.T.A.R Labs, Doctor Wells needed my help - ”

“You’re unbelievable,” Wally told him. “Just so you know, your little plan backfired. I did great, actually. Got a standing ovation, even after I stood for a good thirty seconds waiting for you to come join me on that stage. Everyone thinks you’re an asshole for standing me up. Guess they’re starting to see your true colours now, huh?”

“It was an emergency!”

“I thought maybe I misjudged you, but it turns out I was right all along. You’re a jerk, and I’m done trying to make amends with you.”

“Wally, wait!”

But Wally was already storming across the street, adamantly turning his head away. Defeated, Barry slumped in the street. It was starting to rain. Breathing hard, Barry kept his head down and stared at the sidewalk until he thought he could move without screaming. 

If he’d caught Cold, at least he might have felt like it was worth it. Instead, he’d lost all the progress he’d made with Wally and let Cold screw him over  _ again.  _ The unfairness of it all made him want to start yelling right there in the middle of the street. Instead, he forced himself to keep breathing steadily in and out as the rain drizzled down in a watery veil above him, and he started to feel his anger drain away. It left frustration behind, and resentment that Wally hadn’t even listened to his explanation. Was it really so unbelievable that he might have rushed out to help Doctor Wells? Of course Wally preferred to believe he was just a mean asshole who’d left him in the lurch out of spite. That stung… even more so, the knowledge that everyone else had left too. Even Cisco and Caitlin, who knew where he had gone. They’d all walked out on him. 

Rubbing his face with both hands, Barry breathed out hard. Then he lifted his chin and started heading for home. For once, he didn’t feel like running. 

 

~*~

 

Len stood in the centre of the living room and laughed. He couldn’t help it. 

The plan had gone without a hitch. Len was more than used to having his plans go awry, they seemed to take great pleasure in it, but for once things had gone exactly according to plan. It was amazingly satisfying. Now, safely home with the tanzanite in hand and the knowledge that he’d gotten off scot free, he couldn’t stop grinning. The rush was incredible. He couldn’t stop shaking. 

It had been a last minute stroke of genius to set that boobytrap for the Flash. When he and Mick had taken that last detour to the security control room, his intention had just been to switch the electricity back on and reset one of the alarms so they could trigger an alert on the way out. Just to let the speedster know he’d been and gone and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. At the last minute, though, the idea had struck him and he couldn’t resist. It had been a risk, taking that few extra minutes to reconfigure all the security settings, and Mick had prowled edgily up and down the room the entire time, not sharing Len’s malicious enjoyment as he set everything up… but the payoff. Beautiful. He only wished he’d been there to witness it. Even imagining it made him shake with laughter. He could only imagine the look on the Flash’s face when all those alarms started blaring and the lights came on, and then he got soaked by the sprinklers on top of everything else. He’d be getting a kick out of that one for weeks. God, he hoped the cameras caught it. That’d be a contender for  _ America’s Funniest Home Videos  _ if he ever saw one. 

Shaking his head amusedly, Len took another second to appreciate his spoils. Mick had handed over the tanzanite when they parted ways; they’d driven a safe distance away, changed back into their ordinary clothes and then Mick had taken the museum overalls away to be burned, with plans to get a beer afterwards in celebration of a job well done. Len had planned to sequester the tanzanite in one of the safe houses for safekeeping, but he hadn’t been able to decide which one, so he’d taken a detour back to the apartment to change his clothes again - his parka was covered in blood and grit from the altercation with the employees in the parking lot - and now...he was gloating. There was no getting around it. Standing in the middle of the living room with a smug smirk on his face, relishing in the Flash’s mortifying defeat… a very successful evening, he thought with satisfaction.

The tanzanite was heavy in his hand; he weighed it experimentally. He’d have to hang on to it for a couple of days, until some of the heat died down. Then he could look at selling it on. That part of the proceedings held nowhere near as much interest. The fun part was over. But, he reflected, he could look at splashing out with the extortionate sum he’d be asking in exchange for the jewel. He’d take Barry out for dinner every night for a month. Have some suits tailored for him; the kid would look good in a well-fitted tux. On top of that, he could look at replacing his bike, maybe buy a couple more houses. Real estate was always a good investment. Perhaps he’d talk Barry into looking at a new place. The apartment was nice, it was homely, but who could say no to a penthouse with a glorious view of the entire city? _ Oliver Queen, eat your heart out,  _ thought Len. He could see it now. The entire city spread out before them, a gleaming sea of bright lights and he and Barry stood looking down over it all, the kid tucked closely into his side. The entire city was theirs for the taking, after all. Or it soon would be. The Flash was no match for him, as he’d clearly demonstrated. Just as soon as he had a leash on the speedster, he’d be king of the world. Nothing could stand in his way.

Of course, he’d have some explaining to do. Len doubted any janitor’s salary would cover the kind of expenditure he was dreaming of. Not even the guys who cleaned the White House. He’d have to look into it. Still, Barry was gullible. Sweet, smart, but not always the brightest when it came to the little details. He’d been overlooking Len’s propensity to throw obscene sums of money around for weeks now. Another unexpected promotion or two, perhaps an invented estranged relative who could conveniently die and leave him a large sum of money… Barry wouldn’t ask too many questions, Len was sure. 

Idly, he polished the gemstone on his sweater and held it up to the light. What a prize. And there had been nothing and no one to stop him just reaching out and taking it. No challenge at all.

The sound of a key turning in the lock brought him sharply back to reality. Shoving the tanzanite into his pocket, he did an abrupt about turn and vanished from the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

He heard Barry calling out, but stayed quiet. Slipping across the hallway, he stepped into the guest room and closed that door behind him too. Then he scanned the room, his eagle eyes looking for a good hiding place. This was the least-used room in their apartment, the best place to hide something temporarily, but it was so bare that there were few options. Given more time, he could’ve pried up a floorboard, but Barry was still moving through the rooms, searching for him. Instead, Len pulled the tanzanite out of his pocket and shucked his parka, still incriminatingly sullied with blood and muck. Wrapping the jacket tightly around the gemstone like a cocoon, he scrunched it up into a tiny ball. Then he grabbed the duffle bag on the floor and started cramming the parka inside. 

It took a lot of shoving and squashing, he thought the seams of the bag might split, but he managed to force it inside and yank the drawstrings tight. The bag bulged obscenely, tipping onto its side like a beached whale. Len kicked it as far under the bed as it would go and started pulling DVDs and crumpled shirts over the top, like a dog burying a bone. When he was satisfied that it was covered, he straightened up and left the room. It would be fine there for a day or two until he could relocate it to a safer spot.

Barry poked his head around the kitchen door just as Len stepped into the hallway, and jumped out of his skin. “Jesus! You scared the crap outta me, I didn’t think you were home.” He frowned. “What were you doing in there?”

“Mislaid my  _ Jaws  _ DVD. Had a craving for blood, guts and a killer shark. Damned if I know where I put it.”

“You want me to help you look for it?”

“Don’t worry about it. I think I lent it to my sister. I’ll call her later, see if she has it.” Len frowned. “Did something happen? You look a little...”

The best word was ‘dishevelled.’ His hair was windswept and a little damp; it was a good look for him, but the bitten lips and miserable expression, not so much. Concernedly, Len reached out to touch him on the arm. Usually, Barry responded to his advances, collapsed into his touches like he was starved for them. This time, however, he just gave a small smile and looked away.

“You get booed off the stage or something?” Len asked lightly. “I wouldn’t sweat it. I guarantee that wasn’t on you. Snow’s singing would probably be classed as an illegal torture technique in more civilised countries.” When he got only a wan smile in response, he started to get really concerned. “Barry. What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it. You want me to make a start on dinner? I’m starved.” He started to turn away.

Len caught his wrist, reeling him back in. “Don’t change the subject. You look like hell, what happened to you?”

Barry’s mouth twisted. “Wally,” he said bitterly. 

“I thought things were getting ironed out between you two.”

“Yeah, well so did I. For once, we were actually getting along. Then I had to dash out and make a quick trip to S.T.A.R Labs. It was an emergency, Doctor Wells needed my help, but Wally took it personally. He started yelling about how I’d abandoned him on purpose to humiliate him, and that I was basically the world’s biggest asshole -  _ and  _ he talked everyone else into walking out on me. So now all my friends think I’m an asshole, I’ve screwed things up with Wally, and I’m no closer to solving any of the problems I’ve been trying to deal with for god knows how long!” Furiously, Barry turned away. “I’m just sick of trying so hard and never getting anything back. I tried with Wally, and he just threw it back in my face. I don’t know what the hell else I’m supposed to do.”

He looked so small standing there, all hunched shoulders and worry lines etched into his forehead. Len reached out to touch him, rubbing his back and feeling the tension in his shoulders. 

“You did what you could,” Len told him. “No one can ask for anything more than that. Your friends know you, and they know you wouldn’t have run out like that unless it was an emergency. Give him time. He’ll cool off. He’s like you; all bark and no bite. Once his temper cools off, he’ll see reason.”

“No, I’m done,” Barry said, keeping his eyes closed. “I’m through trying with him. This was our last chance at setting things straight, and he’s determined to see the worst in me, so let him. I don’t care.”

He did care. That much was obvious from the way his voice cracked, how hard he swallowed afterward. But pointing that out wouldn’t do either of them any good, so Len just pulled him close and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the tension of Barry’s body pressed against his. Barry buried his face in Len’s shoulder and they stood together quietly for a time, until some of the stiffness had gone out of Barry’s body and he took a deep breath and stepped away.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Any time,” Len told him. “Always. Remember: those who mind don’t matter -”

“And those who matter don’t mind.”

“Actually I was gonna say ‘and they’re all imbeciles, fuck ‘em,’ but whatever floats your boat.”

Barry laughed, a little dimple showing in his cheek. Len grinned back at him. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it. I’d like to hear you say that to Wally.”

“I will, if it’ll make you feel better. I did threaten to punch him in the face once before. Just say the word, and I’ll go tell him exactly what I think of him. With expletives.”

“Tempting as that is, I think for Joe’s sake I’d better not take you up on it.” Still smiling, albeit a little more weakly, Barry said, “I’m gonna get food. You want anything?”

“I’ll do it,” Len said. “What are you craving? Anything you want. Within reason; I can’t run to caviar, but if we have the ingredients I can rustle up most anything else.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Trust me,” said Len, “I do. My conscience won’t allow you to inflict any more acts of culinary war on that poor innocent kitchen. There are just some things I can’t stand for.” He tilted his head. “What are you hungry for?”

“I could murder a grilled cheese,” Barry admitted.

“Well, that’s uncalled for. What’d the grilled cheese ever do to you?” Having coaxed another wan smile out of Barry, Len said, “Hop in the shower. I’ll have it ready by the time you get out.”

“You’re the best,” Barry said thankfully. 

“You just have appallingly low standards. Go on, get yourself cleaned up. You look like hell.”

“Wow, thanks. Love you, too.”

Len just made a face at him as Barry slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, but his grimace softened into something else once there were a few inches of wood between them. He stood and waited, listening as the shower switched on and water started pattering down onto the tiles, heard the swish of the shower curtain… and only then did he step away from the door and head for the kitchen, with a small smile on his face. 


	35. Chapter 35

Once upon a time Barry would have fought to the death to avoid doing household chores, but since becoming the Flash he was coming to appreciate the little things in life. Laundry was simple - albeit mind-numbingly boring. Besides, he felt like he owed Len one for last night… and this morning, most of which he’d spent holed up in the kitchen obsessively Googling tanzanite and the Central City museum and getting twitchy whenever Len entered the room. 

Of this much he was certain: tanzanite was both rare and expensive. Captain Cold clearly had a good eye. Fiddling with the lightning bolt necklace around his neck, rubbing the little charm against his lips, he’d sped-read dozens of articles, waiting with bated breath for a call from work or a sudden article about the robbery. A theft of that magnitude, with so many dead and such a valuable item stolen? The press would have a field day. That sort of thing would be front page news - probably accompanied by a picture of Barry making an absolute idiot of himself walking into Cold’s trap. Very quickly Barry had decided that dwelling on it was only going to make him more stressed - hence, the laundry.

Len was on the sofa, nose buried in a battered paperback, still with his boots on, studiously ignoring him as Barry wandered around the house on his laundry pilgrimage, amassing an ever-growing heap of dirty clothes that he piled up on the table. He was probably trying to avoid getting roped in to help. Lazy asshole, Barry thought fondly, then he turned back to the pile and frowned. It had seemed huge when he was carrying it around, but now he wasn’t so sure. He put his hands on his hips.

“Have you got any colours? I’m trying to do laundry, but I don’t have enough for a full wash.”

Without glancing up from his book, Len asked, “Did you try the laundry basket?”

“Twice. Can you get up for a second?”

Sighing, Len got to his feet. Barry plunged his arm down the back of the sofa and found two odd socks, a tie and several loose polo mints before he backed off. Len sat back down again and put his feet back up on the coffee table. 

Barry shook his head and headed off to check behind the laundry basket in case anything had fallen behind it instead of inside. Unfortunately, it was all full of Len’s clothes, and his wardrobe was ninety percent black and dark grey, with the occasional splash of navy to brighten things up. Today, though, Len was wearing an olive coloured sweater. Barry considered for a second.

“Can you give me your sweater? It’ll make up some of the difference.”

“Any excuse to get me naked,” Len said, flipping a page. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, Scarlet, I’m not stripping off so you can do unnecessary laundry. Just leave it until we’ve got some stuff that actually needs washing.”

“I wanna get it out of the way,” Barry complained, and he headed into Len’s old room. They tended to use it as storage space now; aside from the extensive collection of DVDs under the bed, they had been known to treat the room as a walk-in wardrobe - or more often, a dumping ground for clothes they couldn’t be bothered putting away. 

There was a red checked shirt of Barry’s crumpled up on the pillow, which he set on one side. Then he got on his knees and reached underneath the bed, groping around in search of more stray socks. 

“I guess these cushion covers could do with a wash,” Len called from the living room. “Considering the amount of times we’ve had sex on this sofa. Brown counts as a colour, right?”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Yes, Leonard, brown is a colour.” Then he focused on reaching a little further underneath the bed. 

Len’s voice became muffled as Barry concentrated, stretching as far as he could - then his fingers snagged fabric. With a pleased sound, Barry tugged. He had hold of some kind of cord. Was it a hoodie? It seemed to be caught on something. He gave a hard pull and it came free, and he rolled out from underneath the bed to find himself holding Len’s duffle bag, the one he used to carry his work clothes.

Barry tutted. Trust Len to kick the duffle under the bed to avoid actually washing his stuff. Come to think of it, Barry couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Len’s work overalls in the laundry pile. Once upon a time they’d made regular appearances even though they didn’t seem all that dirty, but he couldn’t recall washing them in  _ weeks.  _ Gross. Disapprovingly, Barry tugged on the drawstrings of the bag. Like it or not, Len was going to have his laundry done. 

The bag was stuffed full, bulging so badly that he could barely get it open. The drawstring was tied in a knot that he doggedly unpicked, determined to get inside. He wasn’t even paying attention to what Len was saying any more, too focused on getting the damn bag open. Then, the neck of the bag loosened slightly and Barry managed to pull free the filthy sleeve of Len’s parka.

The sleeve was coated in grime, which, Barry thought, surely negated the whole point of having overalls. Why wear your favourite jacket to go cleaning? Still, the parka was blue, and would definitely fill up the washing machine some, if he could manage to get the damn thing out of the bag. It had been crammed in there so tightly that he couldn’t seem to shift it. Grimly, Barry tugged. He managed to free a little more of the fabric, revealing the matted fur of the hood. What had Len been  _ doing  _ in this thing? It was like he’d been rolling around in oil. Barry gave another yank.

The parka came free all of a sudden, the bag slithering to the floor. Pleased, Barry gave the filthy coat a shake, and a soft thump drew his attention as something hit the floor. He looked down.

On the floor lay a blue gemstone around the size of Barry’s fist.

Confused, he reached for it. The stone was cool to the touch, and smooth. It had been beautifully sculpted into the shape of a teardrop, with dozens of facets that all winked and gleamed in the light. He cradled it in his lap with a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The pictures hadn’t done it justice.

The tanzanite was a deep, rich cobalt, and it shimmered slightly in the light. It was larger than he’d pictured it, and surprisingly heavy. It was polished to a shine, and he could almost see through it, a distorted glimpse of his own palm pressed up against its surface. Numbly, Barry stared at the gemstone.

Just then, the bedroom door swung open and Len walked in, still talking. “Come to think of it, I seem to recall your underwear was coloured today. It’s not dirty right now, but we could probably change - ”

He stopped dead. Barry looked up at him, clutching the tanzanite so hard that his fingers ached.

“Damn,” Len said. “You got me.”

This seemed like somewhat of an underreaction to the situation. Barry had no idea how much a piece of tanzanite this size would sell for, but it was fucking heavy, and judging by the obscene prices he’d seen online, it was worth a  _ lot. _ More than their entire apartment and everything in it. And Len had hidden it in his  _ duffle bag.  _ Barry’s stomach churned.

Len’s calm expression didn’t falter. “Me and the guys were contracted to clean this fancy theatre on the other side of town. They’d just finished a production of  _ Aladdin _ , and all the props from the cave of wonders were still lying around backstage. One of them might have accidentally slipped into my pocket. You know I’ve always been a sucker for pretty things.” He smirked.

Barry looked back down at the tanzanite, of a blue even brighter than Len’s eyes. He wanted to drop the gemstone. He wanted to hurl it out through the window and never look at it again, to have it disappear. To erase the past five minutes like they’d never happened, and go back to bickering over laundry without knowing that thousands of dollars worth of gemstone was lurking underneath the spare bed in their apartment.

The worst part was the ease and rapidity with which Len had come out with such a pack of lies. Like it was nothing to him, to stand there and lie to Barry’s face.

Barry’s body was frozen, the facets of the tanzanite digging into his palm, but his mind was racing. Doing calculations. Matching up dates and times. Because now he looked back on it, all the times Captain Cold had made an appearance had coincided perfectly with times Len had been ‘at work’. Without fail. And Barry had never put two and two together because until now it had never occurred to him that those two things might be connected.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so stupid.

“Say something,” Len said irritably. “Jesus, Barry, it’s just a hunk of plastic, it’s not like anybody’s gonna miss it. Okay, fine, so I shouldn’t have taken it, but they were gonna throw it out anyway - ”

“You're Captain Cold,” Barry said hoarsely.   


There was a moment of silence. 

"What are you babbling about?" said Len.

"Don't," Barry said, his voice shaking. "Don't you lie to me." He held up the tanzanite, his hand shaking. “Less than twenty-four hours ago this was stolen from the Central City museum by a guy who managed to get in and out without setting off a single alarm, a guy who didn't leave a single trace except for a calling card with his mark on it. But you know that. Because you stole it."   
  
Len watched him impassively, but something flickered in his eyes. Barry lowered his wrist.   
  
"I am so stupid," he said softly. "All those weeks of skulking about. The phone calls. Spending all that time with Mick." He laughed bitterly. "I thought you were cheating on me! I actually think I prefer that scenario."   
  
"Ouch."    
  
"This isn't funny! You  _ lied to me _ ! You stole that cold gun from S.T.A.R Labs. You’ve been going behind my back, stealing, and - and  _ murdering people _ and I never knew a thing about it! And you’re just going to stand there? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What exactly do you want me to say?” Len demanded. “You expect me to deny it? I think maybe we’re past that. So. I’m Captain Cold.” He smiled sarcastically. “Surprise!”

Barry leapt to his feet, the tanzanite falling from his lap. “Surprise?  _ Surprise _ ? I find out you’re  a god damn  _ supervillain _ , and all you can say is  _ ‘surprise’ _ ?” 

“Well, you have to admit you didn’t see it coming.”

“No,” Barry said, lowering his head. “I didn’t. I must be an even bigger idiot than I thought.” He clenched his fists. "How did you really get that bullet wound, that night you wound up in the hospital? The truth, this time."   
  
For a moment Len looked as though he wasn't going to answer, but eventually, he said, "As you so astutely pointed out, the gun I’ve been using didn’t always belong to me. The guy who stole it from S.T.A.R Labs decided to advertise. Unfortunately, he wasn’t smart enough to ask for the money _ before  _ he showed me the goods. It was a little out of my price range. He wanted a very high price, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be."    
  
Barry said flatly, "So you took it from him, and then he shot you."    
  
"He got a shot in, but he didn’t live to tell the tale, as you know. I have to admit, I never realised you’d be the one analysing the crime scene. You never traced it back to me, so you’ve got to admit I’m good. He was aiming at Mick, if that makes you feel any better."    
  
"No, Leonard! That does _ not _ make me feel any better. You've killed people! You've stolen things and robbed people and hurt people and - what the hell is wrong with you?"   
  
"I wasn't blessed with a particularly loud conscience," Len said. "And since we're playing truth or dare, I have a couple of questions to ask you."    


Barry folded his arms and waited.   


Len's expression hardened. "I understand you knowing about the cold gun, you probably got clued in by your freaky little buddies at the lab… what I’d like to know is, how do you know about the card?"   


Lowering his head, Barry took several deep breaths. He looked up again with his fists clenched, and said quietly, "Because I’m the Flash."  
  
This confession did not have the impact he’d expected; Len actually had the gall to laugh at him. "Sure, kid. Whatever you say. I suppose next you'll be telling me that Felicity Smoak is the Black Canary. Ooh, I know, is Cisco Ramon the Arrow? Or maybe it's Doctor Wells; he seems like the type."  
  
Barry really wasn't in the mood to be made fun of. He blurred across the room and slammed Len up against the wall, hard. Raising a hand above his head, Barry angled the flat of his hand towards Len and let it vibrate. Len’s eyes flickered to Barry’s hand and then back to his face, taking it all in.  
  
Len's heart was hammering, but his voice was perfectly level as he said mockingly, "Oooh, kinky. Does having superpowers do that to you or have you just been holding out on me?"  
  
"Shut up," Barry said shakily. "I shared my _bed_ with you. I've been defending you to everyone for _months_ and you’re seriously gonna stand there and tell me you're a murderer?"  
  
"I didn't tell you anything. And I never saw you rushing to tell me _your_ secrets, _Flash_. Were you ever gonna tell me, or did you decide I didn't need to know that my dearly beloved boyfriend was a metahuman?"  
  
"I wanted to tell you," Barry said. "I would have. I was pretty sure you'd have already figured it out by now; I wasn’t exactly subtle about it. Why are you so obsessed with The Flash?"  
  
Len swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You gonna let me go, Scarlet? I can think of a better time and place to try choking - maybe in the bedroom. I'm gonna have a hard time telling you anything if you strangle me."  
  
"Believe me, I'm tempted," Barry muttered, but he let go and backed off.   
  
Len rubbed his throat, his eyes glinting. "So it was you in that suit all along. I should have known. Scrawny little bastard."  
  
"Why do you even care?" Barry demanded. "You've been obsessed with the Flash for weeks - why?"  
  
Len shrugged. "Someone like you would have been a valuable asset to the cause. Crime," he elaborated.  
  
Barry clenched his fists. "In case you hadn't noticed, the Flash is a hero. I save people. What makes you think I'd have joined your little team?"  
  
"If it makes you feel better I never intended for you to join willingly. A goody two shoes like you? I wouldn't have a hope in hell of convincing you to join my side. Everyone has a weakness, a breaking point; someone or something they care about enough to do anything. After I found out who you were, I was planning to kidnap all the people you care about. A couple of threats on their lives and you'd have been mine to do with as I pleased." He smirked. "Of course, now I realise I'd have to have held a gun to my own head I'm not quite so keen on that idea. I’d still happily threaten Joe, though, if you’d like a little convincing.”

“How can you joke about this?!” Barry exploded. “You lied to me! You  _ shot  _ me!”

“Yes, how was that? I imagine it stung a little.”

“You know what that gun was made for? Do you wanna know why Cisco built it? He built it to shoot me with, in case I turned out to be dangerous. You’ve been carrying around a super-weapon designed specifically to hurt the person you’re supposed to care about most!”

“Clearly it didn’t work. You’re still alive and kicking.” 

“No thanks to you,” Barry said bitterly. “And how many other people can say the same? How many people did you  _ murder  _ last night to get your hands on this?” He shoved the tanzanite under Len’s nose, gripping it so hard that his fingers ached. “Do you even know? Why did you even steal it, what the hell was it  _ for _ ?”

“I thought it’d look nice on our mantlepiece,” Len drawled. “Why do you think I stole it?” He leaned in. “Because it’s  _ fun. _ ”

Barry flinched. “You’re telling me you killed all those people for _ fun _ ?”

“I killed them because they were in my way,” said Len. “Is that what you want to hear? I’m a bad person, I’m a thief, I’m a killer. I do bad things, and I hurt people. Or do you want me to deny it?”

“I can’t do this,” Barry said. “I can’t, I…” He turned his back on Len, tears in his eyes. “I defended you. All this time I’ve been telling people they were wrong about you, that you were a good person, that you’d never hurt anybody… I believed in you. I loved you!”

“You never loved me,” Len said viciously. “This conversation has proven that much. You only thought you did. You had this idea of me in your head, good little janitor Leonard Snart, and  _ that’s  _ what you fell for. The reality isn’t so pretty.” He folded his arms. “So what next,  _ Flash _ ? I’m unarmed, and we both know you’re faster than I am. What are you going to do with me now?”

“I..”

“Turn me in,” Len murmured, almost seductively. It was the same tone of voice he used when they were in bed, all of a sudden making Barry’s skin crawl. “Make sure I get what I deserve. Do justice, the same way you do with all the metahumans who live in fear of the sound of your name. Lock me up, throw away the key, and forget about me.”

“I was going to spend the rest of my life with you,” Barry said, tears streaming down his face. 

“Shame,” Len said softly. “Maybe you’ll come visit me in prison after you lock me away. Although somehow I doubt it. I don’t know where you lock away your supervillains, but I’m guessing it’s somewhere a little more high-spec than Iron Heights.” Mockingly, he held his wrists out in front of him. “Well, what are you waiting for? Cuff me.” He smirked. “Never thought I’d be saying that in this context. I was saving that one for a special occasion.”

Barry’s heart was hammering. His chest felt like it was caving in; he couldn’t draw air in fast enough. Len, his Lenny, a killer. Stood right here in front of him and telling him what he’d done without shame or regret. The evidence of his latest crime was still in Barry’s hand. That thought made him flinch; his fingers twitched and he dropped it, the tanzanite hitting the floor with a soft thunk. Neither of them moved to retrieve it. Len was watching him like a man on death row might watch his executioner, his jaw clenched tight...but there was something in his eye that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of his cool facade. A flicker of apprehension, yes… but something else. A piece of the man he’d loved for the best part of a year and a half, who’d sat vigil at his bedside during his coma, rubbed his back when he was sad… taken him out to dinner and threatened to punch anyone who got on Barry’s bad side. The man who made love to him sometimes like he was worth more than anything in the world. Worth more than the tanzanite he’d put his life on the line to steal. 

A barrage of memories assaulted him all at once. Len’s face the day Barry finally came home after waking up from his coma - through the doorway and straight into his arms. Hours of lying together on the couch, playing cards, bickering, eating dinner. Quiet moments and furious bickering all interwoven together into one big tapestry, in which there was now a gaping hole. Barry’s heart ached. Much as he liked to believe that a stranger was staring out at him from Len’s expressionless face, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. The man who’d held him and the man who’d shot him with the cold gun were one and the same. That hurt more than he could express.

Len was still watching him, hands held out in front of him, but there was something resigned about his expression now. More than anything, he looked tired. Like he’d been expecting this. Maybe some part of him had.

Barry took a step towards him. Len kept his head high, but when Barry reached out to touch his face, he flinched.

Barry’s breath hitched. Hurt, he lowered his hand.

“I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m sorry, I can’t - I - ”

Len swallowed, the only indication that their conversation was affecting him at all. Shivering, Barry backed away. 

“I can’t do this,” he said, and bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUUUUUUUUUN!!!
> 
> so it's happened. they know.
> 
> i really hope this wasn't an anticlimax - reading back i'm aware that it came really hot on the heels of the robbery, but as a couple of people have pointed out in the comments (which i definitely agree with) Len hiding the tanzanite in such a dumb place was an uncharacteristically bad decision. he got cocky. he was getting too reliant on the fact that Barry wouldn't catch on to anything he did, without realising they've played cat and mouse this whole time. because Barry Allen obviously doesn't have a stake in the tanzanite, maybe wouldn't put two and two together even if he did find it. the Flash, on the other hand... that's a different story.
> 
> there were two ways i could have played this. the obvious choice was for them to unmask each other in battle. that could have been interesting and fun to write in its own way - but i kind of wanted them to learn the truth about each other in their own home, their safe space, so it all gets tangled in the domesticity they've both been desperately trying to preserve. i just felt it was right that after all those close calls, it's when things get too close to home that the veil falls away and they can't run away from it any more. this is also a really short chapter, but i cut it in half for dramatic effect, i kind of wanted this part to stand on its own. i'll post the other half soon, it's pretty much ready to go, but what can i say, i kind of wanted to leave you all hanging :P 
> 
> anyway, it's been a super long build-up to this moment so i really hope it didn't fall flat, and obviously the fallout will lead to more and more conflict as we carry on, i just didn't feel that i could conceivably drag it out a lot longer cos we are obviously quite a way into the story and i know a few people (myself included) were getting itchy about all the near misses, so... yep. there we go.


	36. Chapter 36

Over the past few months Barry had spent an awful lot of time running away from things, but he didn’t think he’d ever run like this. Usually the fear was sharp and visceral, an instinctive thing. This time, the thing he was running from was a hard kernel of horror in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t distance himself from it no matter how hard he tried.

Leonard was Captain Cold.

His mind rebelled against it, his stomach churning like curdled butter. Head down, he just focused on putting as much distance between himself and the apartment as he could. The smell of the soles of his sneakers burning followed him as he tore down the street; they were going to fall apart on him, and he had already experienced the discomfort of running barefoot, but he wasn’t sure he could face dropping in at S.T.A.R Labs to grab the Flash suit. He didn’t think he could stand to look at it. 

At first he wasn’t sure where he was going, other than away. His feet carried him across town, the streets he knew like the back of his hand. Who could he turn to? Who in Central City could help him now? He didn’t know what to do. The love of his life was way back in that apartment with a stolen hunk of rock worth more than Barry’s annual salary. Joe would show up at the apartment with handcuffs and a squadron of fellow officers if Barry told him about this. Cisco and Caitlin had abandoned him the night before; Wells disliked Len anyway. They all disliked him, Barry realised. Even Eddie, who got along with Leonard best, was wary of him. And they’d been right all along. 

He very nearly had to turn his head and vomit, but if he stopped someone might see his face, and he couldn’t puke at super speed without the velocity throwing it all back in his face. As if his day couldn’t possibly get any worse. Choking down the burning sensation in the back of his throat, Barry got his head down and ran faster, praying for his smoking shoes to hold. 

He blasted past the city limits without looking back, hitting the highway and then it was just him and miles of road, the odd car he had to swerve around. Every now and then he caught a split-second glimpse of shocked faces as he passed them - and then he piled on the speed, leaving a deafening boom in his wake, car windows shattering as he tore past like a hurricane, leaving destruction in his wake. He hadn’t run this fast since the night he fought Tony Woodward, and his heart felt like it might burst, lightning dancing across his skin. Wells, he reflected, would have been proud of him. 

It grew exhausting after a while, maintaining that breakneck pace. Barry didn’t slow, didn’t falter even for a second. Running as if pursued, eating up the miles, forcing himself to focus on the rhythmic thud of his footfalls and his ragged breathing, anything to keep his mind off what he’d just learned. He couldn’t handle it. It was too much, too fast, like he’d built a house on what he thought were solid foundations and then a tsunami came and washed it all away. All of his certainties and plans for the future floating back out to sea, and leaving him to drown. 

The clouds started to gather, and darkness was starting to fall over Starling City as he passed the sign on the outskirts that proclaimed entrance to the city. He rocketed through unfamiliar streets in the dim-half light, following a half-remembered route, operating mostly off instinct, and then burst into Oliver’s lair in a flurry of loose leaves of paper, smoking rubber and a gust of wind. 

For a moment after staggering to a halt, Barry wasn’t quite sure whether or not he’d stopped moving at all. Dizzily, he bent over slightly, trying to fight the wash of dizziness that had come over him; he hadn’t eaten enough for a run like that and his mouth was dry, his muscles turned to water. 

Then a shriek shattered the silence and Barry startled, jolting back into the speedforce. There was an object flying at his head in slow motion; he ducked and resumed normal speed just as the paperweight curved, skidded across the floor and hit the opposing wall, having narrowly missed his head.

He turned, only to find Felicity Smoak standing wide-eyed, one arm drawn back in preparation to hurl an enormous novelty mug at him. She blinked owlishly, her mouth open. Then -

“Barry!” she shouted.

“Hey, Felicity,” Barry said weakly.

“Don’t  _ do  _ that!” she scolded, dumping the mug back on her desk. “You scared the crap out of me, you can’t just come bursting in like that! I didn’t even know you were coming!”

“Yeah, me neither.” 

Frowning, Felicity took a step closer. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Barry almost laughed. Understatement of the century. His shoes were all but melted off his feet, his face was red and sore both from crying and from six hundred miles worth of grit being blasted at his face, his hair was a windswept mess and he was dead on his feet to top it all off. Wearily, he swayed a little, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands and just hide from it all. Coming here didn’t even make sense, there was nothing she or Oliver could do… but he had nowhere else to run to.

“Alright, put your hands in the air!” growled a lowered voice. “We have you surrounded.”

Barry looked up, startled. Oliver and Diggle stood at the foot of the stairs, Diggle with his gun levelled at Barry’s head, and Oliver with his hood up and an arrow already nocked and ready to fly, his eyes glinting out from the shadow cast by his hood.

They made eye contact, and Oliver frowned. “Barry?” 

Barry lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave.

Lowering the bow, Oliver glanced at Felicity. He deactivated the device that changed his voice and said, “What’s going on in here? We heard you screaming, we thought something happened.”

“Something did happen. This asshole burst in here at three hundred miles per hour and scared the crap out of me,” Felicity grumbled, folding her arms.

Diggle holstered his gun and he and Oliver moved into the room. “Man, you look rough. Everything all right?”

“Uh, no. Not at all, actually.” Barry tried to smile, but it came out twisted. He pressed his lips together hard.

Felicity came closer, one hand outstretched. She touched his arm concernedly. “Barry, what happened?”

Barry took a shuddering breath, his eyes aching. Suddenly he was close to tears again; he could feel them brimming over. He focused on a point above her shoulder, didn’t dare blink in case the tears started falling and wouldn’t stop.

“Did someone get hurt?” Oliver demanded. “Is it Cisco? Caitlin?”

“Iris?” Felicity asked gently. 

“No,” Barry said. “It’s not that, it… it’s Leonard.”

Then the floodgates opened. His face distorted and he started crying uncontrollably, great heaving sobs that he couldn’t hold back. 

Diggle and Oliver immediately took an alarmed step back, more daunted by the prospect of someone crying than they had been about facing an unknown intruder. Felicity leapt into action, putting her arms around him, frantically trying to comfort him, and Barry just clung to her and hated the fact that her arms weren’t the ones he really wanted, and how fucked up it was that he could still want Len’s hands on him knowing who and what he was. He shook in Felicity’s embrace, his face buried in her shoulder, whilst she rubbed his back and held him back just as hard.

After a minute or two of helpless sobbing, Felicity gently disengaged herself, took one look at Barry’s red and blotchy face, and then glanced at Oliver and Diggle who both still looked aghast. She made a disgusted sound. “I’ll handle this,” she said. “Barry. Come on.”

Grabbing his hand, she led him up the stairs. Blindly, Barry followed, almost tripping over his trailing shoelaces. They weaved through the deserted club, and Felicity led him upstairs into a small but clean kitchen with gleaming utensils lined up on the walls. She pushed him into one of the chairs pulled up at the table, and then busied herself messing around with a small kettle and a couple of mugs whilst Barry tried - and miserably failed - to pull himself together. He sat furiously wiping his eyes on the cuffs of his shirt, shivering from hypoglycemia and misery until there was a gentle clinking sound and Felicity presented him with an enormous mug. 

“Drink this,” she ordered.

“What is it?”

“Tea. My mom dated a British guy once,” she explained. “He was an asshole, like most of her boyfriends, but he did teach me one thing: tea fixes everything. Most things. Within reason. It sure helps with boyfriend drama, anyway. I gave you three sugars. You look like you need it.”

Barry lifted the mug with shaking hands and took a sip. Weirdly, it did help. It gave him something to do, anyway, and the warmth crept through his fingers and heated the rest of his body little by little. Plus, the sugar helped. By the time the mug was empty, he had stopped crying and he wasn’t shaking anywhere near as much. Felicity gave him an encouraging smile.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Barry said gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Good.” She patted his hand. “Now talk. What happened with Leonard?”

Barry took a deep breath. “Leonard, he…” He closed his eyes. “He’s Captain Cold.”

It was out in the open then; no denials, no taking it back. The confession burned the back of his throat, working its way past the lump there. His eyes stung again. He gripped the empty mug of tea to try and ground himself, knuckles whitening. Taking deep breaths, Barry made himself look up into Felicity's face, and found it completely lacking in the horror he'd anticipated. He wasn't sure if he felt cheated or relieved by her lack of reaction. To have everyone else so unruffled seemed like an insult when Barry's entire world had been flipped upside down and stamped on.   


"I... don't actually know who that is," said Felicity.   


Groaning, Barry closed his eyes. Of course she didn't know. He hadn't told her. They kept in contact of course, but things were usually too busy for them to fire off more than a few texts here and there - both of them were usually knee deep in trouble and there wasn't much time for social networking in the middle of a crisis. She didn't know about any of it. A heavy lump of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. God, he really didn't want to explain the whole thing out loud. It was painful enough as it was, a festering wound that he desperately didn't want to prod.  
  
Relinquishing his death grip on the mug, Barry sighed and rubbed his face. "Alright. It's kind of a long story, so we should probably get Oliver back in here. He needs to hear this, and I really don't wanna have to tell it more than once."   
  
"Oh, Oliver's standing right outside the door listening," Felicity said dismissively. "He wants to help in his own way, he's just too emotionally constipated to deal with the fallout. An army of Mirakuru soldiers and he'll face em head on without flinching - but he can't handle a couple of tears." She smiled conspiratorially, then raised her voice and said,  "You can quit lurking now, Oliver.."    
  
The door creaked slightly as a disgruntled Oliver stepped into the room, closely followed by Diggle. "Emotionally constipated?" said Oliver, unimpressed.    


Felicity shrugged cheerfully.

Oliver shook his head, but he moved further into the room and closed the door behind him, leaning up against the worktop with folded arms. Diggle stood by the door, ever the bodyguard. 

“Okay,” Oliver said. “So talk.”

And Barry did. It all came pouring out of him in a helpless rush, starting with the night he was called out to the hospital and going from there. The whole sorry story, all the crime scenes, missing Captain Cold by a hair’s breadth every time. Never getting a good look at him, never really knowing what he was up against, only that for some reason the man wanted to hurt him and didn’t care how many people he shot on the way. That night he and his accomplice had shown up at the school to rescue Iris - which, Barry realised, suddenly made  _ sense,  _ it wasn’t just some crazy coincidence or a vendetta Cold had against Woodward; it was because he knew her. Apparently being an evil supervillain did not change Len’s iron-clad predisposition towards loyalty.... Unless your name happened to be Barry Allen, apparently. Stabbing  _ him  _ in the back was fair game, apparently. And there he’d been thinking that Len was the one person he could trust to watch his back. More fool him.

He talked and talked until his throat was dry, recounting countless crime scenes, leads gone cold, nights tossing and turning worrying about the threat of the man who, unbeknown to him, had been lying at his side the entire time. Being shot at and mocked, the booby trap that had been left for him at the museum. By the time he got to the big reveal, he didn’t have the energy to spin it out. He told it as succinctly as he could, without lingering on the painful details - and then he sat back to let it sink in.

For a while, his friends were all quiet. Inscrutable on Oliver’s part, quietly horrified on Felicity’s. John just looked at him like he couldn’t quite believe Barry hadn’t figured it out before. Honestly, Barry couldn’t really blame him. He felt pretty damn stupid himself.

“So what now?” Oliver asked. “Why’d you come to us? I assume you don’t need help bringing him in.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know whether I  _ should  _ bring him in. If it were anyone else…” Barry shook his head. “I can’t trust my judgement on this. I can’t be objective. And I can’t ask anyone at home because… they know him. They dislike him, for the most part. If I asked Joe, or Doctor Wells, I know exactly what they’d say. I can trust you to make an impartial judgement.” He looked pleadingly at Oliver. “What should I do?”

Oliver watched him for a while, lips pursed. Barry refused to lower his gaze, knowing how pathetic and small he must look with his hair in disarray and his face still damp from crying, but past caring. Oliver had been doing the hero thing for longer than him. This was supposed to be his area of expertise.

Eventually, Oliver settled back against the counter and said, “I can’t tell you what to do now, Barry. That’s on you. I’m sorry, but it has to be your call.”

Barry slumped.

“That being said… I do have a little experience with caring about someone who’s… fallen off the straight and narrow.”

“One of his exes turned out to be evil,” Felicity stage-whispered from behind her hand.

“She wasn’t evil,” Oliver said, exasperated. “She was… misunderstood.”

“ _ Evil, _ ” Felicity mouthed, raising her eyebrows at Barry.

Oliver shook his head. “Helena was going through… a difficult time. The point is, you have to make a decision you can live with. Sometimes the right answer isn’t what’s morally correct, it’s what feels right for you. Whatever you do next will totally change the way things are. You have to ask yourself; can you live with yourself if you let him go and he hurts someone? On the other hand, could you live with yourself if you didn’t? If you lock him away and he spends the rest of his life in prison, could you stand to know that you’re responsible? Like you said, when it comes to the people we love, it’s not so easy to be objective. You gotta weigh up your options. And when you make your decision… you’re gonna have to follow through. No take-backs.”

Shakily, Barry breathed out. “That… does not make this any easier.”

“No,” Oliver said. “It doesn’t.”

“He’s killed people,” Barry said. “I don’t know how many. I don’t think  _ he  _ knows. He just stood there and admitted it, and I don’t even think he  _ cared. _ ” His voice cracked. “I’ve been risking my life trying to save people, and all this time… He wanted to catch me, enslave me, use me as a weapon! I liked that he was interested in the Flash. I thought that once I told him, things would be right between us again. The Flash was meant to be something for the people of Central City to believe in, and I thought that’s what I was to him. Hope. But all he saw in me was a new way to steal from people.” Nausea bubbled in the pit of his stomach. 

“That’s what he wanted from the Flash,” Felicity said gently, covering his hand with her own. “It’s not what he wanted from you. He loves you, Barry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Barry said, pulling his hand away. “None of that matters any more. I know what he is now. He’s not the man I thought he was.”

“You don’t know that,” said Felicity. “Maybe there’s more to him than you thought, but that doesn’t mean what you had was a lie, Barry. The Arrow is more than just Oliver Queen. Sure, Oliver is the Arrow, but he isn’t  _ just  _ the Arrow. He’s a vigilante, he’s a fugitive - but he’s also a son, a brother, a businessman… a friend.” She looked up at Oliver and gave a small smile. “Likewise, you’re more than just the Flash.”

“It’s not the same! Me and Oliver, we help people! Leonard is one of the people who makes it necessary to do what I do, he’s a bad guy. He’s killed people!”

“I’ve killed people,” Diggle reminded him. “Oliver’s killed people.”

“That’s different. You were a soldier. And Oliver… Oliver’s changed.”

“Swings and roundabouts,” Diggle said dismissively. “Things aren’t always black and white, Barr. Sometimes you gotta look at the bigger picture. Leonard can’t be all bad. You lived with him for the best part of a year. You just told us how he saved Iris.”

“How can you defend him?” Barry demanded. “After everything I just said, how can you say that?”

“You’re angry,” Diggle said. “I get it. Who wouldn’t be? But you wanted an unbiased look at this, so here’s mine: you’re not thinking clearly. You’re too caught up in this, man. He lied to you, and you’re mad about it. You gotta take a step back, or you’re gonna do something you’ll regret.”

“I can’t think straight when Len’s involved,” Barry said quietly. “I never could.”

“On a side-note, that’s an amazing double-entendre,” Felicity said.

They all turned to look at her.

She held her hands up apologetically. “Sorry. Bad time.”

Barry got to his feet. 

They all gave him concerned looks; Felicity started reaching for him like he was something unsteady on an even surface, something that needed to be propped up. Their concern, on any other day, would have touched him. Right now, it made his head hurt. They were all being so reasonable, so normal - making awkward jokes and speaking so calmly. It felt wrong to see them so rational when his entire world had been tipped sideways on its axis and he was clinging on by his fingertips. It was stupid, after he’d run six hundred miles just to ask for their input, but all he wanted was to get away from them.

"I need a second," Barry said. "I gotta process this. I need...I need some time alone."   
Oliver was the first to respond. "Of course. Whatever you need. You want us to step out for a while?"   
  
"No," Barry said. "No, I think... I think I'll take a walk."    
  
He didn't know Starling City well, but he left the quiet rooms and muted lighting of Verdant followed signs for the waterfront, ambling through the darkened streets with his hands in his pockets and his head down. For once, he didn't run. That seemed inappropriate in this situation.   
  
It was peaceful, walking this way with no set destination in mind. He was reminded of all those fights he'd had with Leonard before they got together, wandering around Central City with his heart aching and his temper flaring, frustrated that this man he cared for so much could be so exhausting to be around, that he seemed so vehemently opposed to Barry's happiness. When really, all Leonard had ever been opposed to was him dating other guys. The whole time he'd been in love with him.  
  
If only their problems could still be so trivial! Barry almost laughed at himself. Back then Len's incessant jealousy had seemed like the end of the world to him; now he only wished that was the worst of their problems.   
  
The man he loved was a murderer. Soberly, Barry, stopped walking. He was stood on the pier, staring out to sea. It occurred to him that he was standing in a spot somewhere near where Oliver Queen had been just before he disembarked on that fateful trip on the Queen's Gambit all those years before.   


Wind rolled in off the sea. Shivering, Barry headed right to the edge of the pier and leaned over the railings to look into the churning black water below.    


Len was a killer, and a thief, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with that information.    


He loved him still, that was the sickening part. The hands that had pilfered and murdered had touched Barry with love - gentleness even. That low, smooth voice had voiced both threats and condolences, soothed Barry to sleep and sentenced people to death. And worst of all was how badly he wanted Len's arms around him, to be held and reassured. To have Len stroke his hair and murmur that it would all be okay, that he'd fix this, that Barry didn't have to worry…  
  
How could you possibly fix this? How could you take that away? He thought back to those brutal photos, the damage wrought by that hateful gun. Leonard had shot  _ him _ . He hadn't known who he was firing at, but Barry had felt the brunt of that weapon himself. Suddenly struggling not to vomit, he leaned out over the side, head pounding, gasping in lungfuls of stinging, salty air.   
  
God, what a mess they'd made. A few days before, their relationship had been the one thing that Barry was certain he could depend upon. Now he realised he'd been standing on rotting ice this whole time, and all the coaxing of his friends and family to move away to safer ground had been sound advice all along.    


Len was Captain Cold.   


Taking a deep breath, Barry straightened up. Something tapped against his chest; he looked down. It was the little charm hanging around his neck; it had fallen forward when he leaned over the edge, and now it tickled lightly against his skin, cool from exposure to the air. With shaking fingers, Barry pulled on the chain, drawing the charm from inside his shirt.   


It was a delicate little thing, a lightning bolt hanging from a thundercloud. He remembered marvelling over the perfection of it, that Len would choose this symbol for him to wear without fully understanding what it represented. The night Leonard had given it to him was one of his fondest memories, tainted as it was by the mess with the robbery at the lab, Cisco's betrayal revealed. That was the night someone stole the cold gun - not Len, although he had vanished halfway through the meal. Barry closed his fingers around the charm, the edges digging into his palm. No, Len had been doing something very different that night.   


He'd put a lot of it together on his way to Starling; that was the night a huge shipment of Vertigo had driven through the city and been accosted by two men armed with liquid nitrogen and a whole lot of bullets. At the time, of course, he'd had no reason to link that incident with Captain Cold. Now, though, he remembered Len's strange excitement when he got back to the restaurant. The way he'd got all closed off when the story showed up on the news. He'd bowed out part of the way through their date, stolen the Vertigo, and got back in time for dessert. His behaviour had been so strange; he had seemed so alert, buzzing with energy and...arousal, he'd been horny as all hell in the aftermath of what he'd done in a way not dissimilar to how Barry sometimes got turned on by running, all the adrenalines and endorphins electrifying his entire body. God, he'd got off on stealing all those drugs, and Barry felt sick at the very thought. He'd thought all of that was for him, but really Len was just using him as an outlet for arousal brought on by attacking an armoured truck and robbing it blind. People had  _ died _ , and he'd returned to Barry and fucked him on the sofa like nothing had ever happened, like there weren't people in intensive care because of what he'd done.  
  
And then he gave him the necklace.    


Slowly, Barry opened his hand to look at the glittering charm. So pretty. He'd been so happy that night he thought he could burst, in spite of the cold gun being stolen, in spite of all the trouble with Kyle Nimbus. Now he looked at the charm with something akin to revulsion. It was stolen, probably. Just like everything else. He'd been getting by for months on blood money. Gorge rose in the back of his throat and he started fighting with the clasp, desperate to tear it away, unfastening it with shaking fingers. Balling it up in his fist, he drew his arm back and was about to pitch it out to sea, to let the waves swallow it...   
  
Panting, he stared down into the blackness.   
  
"Shit," he hissed, lowering his hand. His shoulders heaved. He couldn't do it. Even this one little piece of Len, he couldn't bring himself to throw away. His neck already felt horribly bare without it.   


What kind of weakness was it, that stayed his hand? Even knowing it was most likely stolen wasn't enough to make him let it go. There were so many memories attached to that tiny piece of silver. And if he couldn't throw away even the smallest piece of what they had, how 

could he even consider leaving Len behind?   


"Damn you," he said quietly. "Damn you to hell, you asshole."   


He couldn't do it. Oh, it would be possible, sure. Love was a flexible thing, and a broken heart could heal. If he left it all behind, turned his back on the life they'd built, and suffered through the months of loneliness and pain, a few years from now he might be able to look back and feel nothing for Leonard Snart.   
  
But he didn't want that. Not even a little bit. Maybe it was wrong that he could think of Len, knowing everything he'd done, and still love him. That in spite of knowing that the man he cared for was Captain Cold and deserved to be punished, he couldn't bring himself to hate him for it. Oh, he'd been angry at first, he'd said he hated him, he'd called him every name under the sun... but even as he had, he knew his heart was breaking because he couldn't bring himself to mean any of it.   


Shaking his head, Barry took a deep breath and then refastened the chain around his neck, letting the charm fall to his customary place between his collarbones. After that, he did something he hadn't done since he ran out of the apartment the night before - he dug his phone out of his pocket and switched it on.   


It went crazy with notifications the second it loaded up; texts from Cisco and Caitlin and a couple of voicemails, a message from Joe, a few texts from Iris. Nothing urgent, as best he could tell. And nothing from Leonard.   
  
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard...and he hesitated. What the hell was he supposed to say now? How could a text convey everything he needed to say, all the things he needed to ask? It was starting to hit him now that there was so much about this situation he didn’t understand. Contrary to what he’d thought, he didn’t know Leonard Snart even half as much as he thought he did. But, he realised as he started at the cursor flashing on the screen, that went both ways. Len didn’t know everything about him, either. There were so many secrets he’d kept, these past few months. 

Sighing, Barry stowed his phone back into his pocket and then shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. A text wouldn’t do. If only because he knew Len would most likely ignore it. No, they’d have to discuss this face to face. Not a conversation he was looking forward to, but he’d handle it somehow. What choice did he have? 

Barry wasn’t sure what it said about him that Leonard had stolen innumerable priceless artefacts and killed a whole bunch of people with a gun that fired out rays of energy at absolute zero, and that it still wasn’t bad enough for Barry to leave him… but now wasn’t the time for self-analysis. Now was the time to figure out what the hell he was going to do next. 

Experience had taught him that an angry Leonard was best left well alone, at least for an hour or two. After an argument of this magnitude, he’d probably be better leaving it for several days… but not too long, or else Len might do something dramatic. Like skip town, or kill somebody. Barr went cold at the thought. If Captain Cold went on a rampage and started d ecimating the population of Central City whilst Barry was away, there’d be nothing he could do about it. Alarm seized him by the throat and he almost whipped out his phone to fire off a warning to S.T.A.R Labs… but uncertainty stayed his hand. If he warned them, they’d want to know why he’d left in the first place, and why he was so sure Captain Cold would strike again tonight. That would open a whole can of worms that Barry did not want to handle via text message. He shook his head. Len might have been angry, but he was an overthinker. Analytical to a fault. He wouldn’t do something so reckless… probably.

Barry stared out across the waterfront. No use torturing himself now. He’d made his decision: he’d run away. Now he’d have to live with it. Besides, he reasoned, Len had no reason to believe he had left the city. As far as Leonard knew Barry could be lurking right around the corner ready to intervene if he did anything too stupid. No, Len would probably be expecting an attack, for Barry to burst in and arrest him at any moment. He wouldn’t want to provoke him. Right now he was probably at home, scheming and trying to wriggle his way out of the situation… or so Barry hoped. 

God, he wished he hadn’t left Central City.

Thoughts like that, though, weren't helping anybody. If Barry spent time ruminating on every awful decision he made - and he had made many - he'd never have time to do anything else. For now, he'd just have to hope that Leonard didn't do anything too terrible and leave him to simmer. Team Arrow could put him up for the night and in the morning he might have a clearer perspective on things. Maybe.    
  
Shaking his head, Barry rubbed his thumb one last time over the silver charm hanging around his neck, and then he glanced around to check no one was watching and sped back to Verdant to see if Oliver could spare him a bed for the night.

  
  



	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len's POV, finally! :)

"You look like shit," was Mick's verdict.   
  
Len ignored him. Nursing his third drink of the night, he stared straight ahead, feeling the alcohol slowly creeping through his system. His lips were numb; his hands and feet tingled. He was well on the way to being insensibly drunk.    


Mick stood over him, arms folded, scowling. Len glared in the opposite direction. He hadn't summoned him; it didn't take a genius to figure out who had. The bartender was looking incredibly shifty; if it wasn't him, then the call had gone out on his request. He'd seen Leonard Snart drinking himself half to death, got spooked and had someone call Mick to come and get him under control. Too bad Len didn't feel much like doing what he was told.   


He finished his drink and flicked his fingers at the bartender, ordering another. The bartender reluctantly passed it over, and Len downed it in two short swallows.    


"Maybe you should slow down," Mick said.   
  
Well that was a turn up for the books. Mick Rory telling someone to slow down. Hypocrisy at his finest; he must really look like shit. Len didn't care. He made eye contact with the bartender. "Another one."  
  
The man hesitated, evidently warring with his desire to cut him off.   


Len picked up the cold gun where it was resting in his lap, powered it up and pointed it directly at the man's head. Blanching, the man turned away and hurriedly started mixing his drink. Len lowered the gun.   


"The hell happened?" Mick demanded as Len accepted his next drink.  
  
"Barry," said Len, taking another swallow. He grimaced; it wasn't going down fast enough. His voice sounded alarmingly slurry, but as far as he was concerned, if he could still speak then he wasn't even half as drunk as he'd like to be.   
  
"Bitches," Mick said. "I figured. What now? He finish you, finally? He's an idiot."  
  
"No," Len said. 

To tell the truth he didn't know whether they were done or not, although the way Barry yelled at him and stormed out without an explanation seemed pretty indicative that they were through. He still hadn't shown up; Len had no idea where he was and he wasn't going grovelling to Barry's little friends to find out, especially since he had no way of knowing who knew the big secret and who didn't. Everyone at S.T.A.R Labs probably knew, which would explain why he'd been spending so much time there, but if Barry had kept it from him he couldn't begin to guess who else he might have kept it from. Joe, almost certainly. Iris. Wally for sure. He wasn't sure he wanted to know who'd been entrusted with the secret when he hadn't. His hand shook when he lifted his drink; coke slopped onto the bar. He ignored it.   
  
"So what?" Mick frowned. "He cheat on you?"    
  
"No," Len said. "Worse."    
  
"Worse?"    


Far worse, Len thought. Cheating, he might have known how to handle. He at least would have understood. This, though? He was way out of his depth. Treading water in a shark infested sea. All this time he’d thought the cops were the sharks and Barry was the bait. Finding out that Barry was one of the predators had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

“Worse than cheating… he turn straight on your ass?”

Len gave him a scathing look.

“Fair point,” Mick said. “Okay, fine, I’m outta ideas. So he’s not a cheat, he’s not straight, he’s not dead - ”

“How do you know he’s not dead?”

“If he was dead, you’d have shot someone by now.”

He had a point, although shooting someone was still a possibility when he was in this kind of mood. His stomach sloshed unpleasantly; grimacing, he shook himself. The numb feeling was spreading, making his fingers thick and clumsy. They slipped on the glass, which almost tipped; he caught it with seconds to spare. Hardly his usual display of dexterity, he thought with something that was almost amusement. 

Mick eyed his glass. “Okay, I’m cutting you off.”

“Like hell you are.”

“You’ve had enough.”

“Go screw yourself.” Len finished his drink. He glared balefully at the bartender. "You know what an empty glass means. Don't make me ask again."

As the man turned to grab the vodka bottle again, Mick said loudly, “You pour him another drink and I’ll shoot you.” He had the heat gun out, trained on the man’s head. 

This bartender was having a terrible night, Len mused, as he said, “If you  _ don’t  _ pour me another drink then  _ I’ll  _ shoot you. Tomato, tomah-to.”

“Except  _ my  _ gun shoots flames. Fire and booze, not a great combination. He shoots you, things might get a little chilly. I shoot you, this whole place goes up. Your call.”

The bartender stood frozen, halfway to the spirits, clearly having no idea what to do. Incensed, Len turned on his partner.

“What are you doing, Mick? This is none of your business. I never asked you to come here.”

“No, you didn’t. But we’re partners, and partners don’t let partners drink themselves to death in a shitty bar. You seen the state of yourself? You’re a mess, Snart. Thought you were smarter than that. Guy like you had too many enemies to get this drunk in a dodgy part of town. All it takes is someone you’ve pissed off to see you like this, and you’d be screwed. You’re in no fit state to fight back. The wrong person sees you off your face, and you’re as good as dead. That what you want?”

At this point, Len was kind of past caring. He turned back to the bartender. “Another drink. Now.”

“Fuck that. We’re leaving,” said Mick, and he laid a hand on Leonard’s arm.

Len went very still. He didn’t do unsolicited touches, as Mick knew all too well. If you were gonna touch him without consent, you’d better have a damn good reason. His nostrils flared.

“Get your hand off me,” he snarled.

“Get up. We’re going.”

“Like hell we are. I’m staying right here. Take your hand off me.”

“Not until you get your ass out of that chair.”

“You let go of me, Mick, or I swear to god I’ll shoot you.”

“I’m quaking in my boots,” Mick said mockingly.

Len whipped out the cold gun and pointed it squarely in his face. 

Mick didn’t flinch. This was by no means the first time one of them had pulled a gun on the other; there had been many such incidents in the long and storied history of their friendship, but Len wasn’t usually quite this pissed, and his boundaries had gone up in smoke. He was more than mad enough to pull the trigger, and fuck the consequences. Mick, though, didn’t let him go. He just raised his eyebrows. Len had to blink very hard to try and get him in focus; it was like he was squinting at him through several layers of old, wavy glass.

“You have ten seconds, or I’m gonna blow your brains out,” he snarled.

The bartender quailed in his peripheral vision; Saints and Sinners was not a particularly esteemed establishment, but patrons usually waited til they got outside before they started pulling guns on each other. 

Mick just snorted. “You couldn’t hit an elephant, state you’re in. You can’t even see straight.” He removed his hand, folding his arms instead. “Put the gun down, Snart. You’re done.”

Len would have shot him purely out of principle, but unfortunately Mick was right; he was having some difficulty focusing. The entire world rocked wildly, like he was on a boat floating way out to sea. Unsteadily, he lowered the gun. It took four attempts to get it back into its holster, and then his gloved fingers made another clumsy grab for his drink and almost knocked it over again. 

Mick calmly removed the glass from his grasp. Len glowered at him. He would have kept yelling, but there was a rapidly looming threat that he might start projectile vomiting everywhere, and if he was hoping to cling to his reputation after tonight, he needed to avoid that. Captain Cold would not be seen dead puking in a dive-bar. Swaying, Len struggled to his feet. 

Mick jerked his head at the exit, and for the sake of his dignity, Len acquiesced. Meandering across the room, he weaved in and out of tables, bumped into a couple of chairs, and swore viciously the entire time.

They were almost out through the door when the bartender objected, “Uh, Mr. Snart, you… uh… you didn’t pay your tab...”

“Don’t push it,” Mick growled, and slammed the door behind them.

The air outside was bracing. Unfortunate. Len didn’t want to sober up after he’d put so much effort into getting totally fucked, but the cool air did at least make him feel less like puking. He lurched towards the main road; Mick whistled and jerked his head irritably in the opposite direction.

“Why? Where are we going?” Len curled his lip and said sneeringly, “If you’re looking for a quickie in the alleyway, I gotta tell you I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Parking lot’s this way, asshole. I’m taking you home. But if you puke in the van, you’re cleanin’ it up.”

“Over my dead body.”

“It will be.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Len said. “Night’s still young… I’m not going back.”

“Fine. If you don’t wanna see him, you can come back to my place, but you’re not wandering round the city in this kind of a mess. I got a reputation too, remember. You’re making both of us look like idiots.”

“Not hard,” Len said, then snickered meanly. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Mick said, but he sounded more tired than pissed. “Now go get in the van, unless you wanna talk about your problems here in the street like a couple of middle aged women.”

“Why not?” Len said, turning away. “Why not just let you take me home? He won’t be there. He ran away. Fucking bastard ran away from me, just like I always knew he would. Couldn’t hack it. The second I let the mask slip, and he was gone…” He shook his head, a bitter little smile on his face. “Should’ve known better than to expect he’d stick around. Everyone leaves me in the end. There’s only so long I can keep patching myself up before all the shit starts leaking out.”

“That’s gross,” Mick said. 

“I don’t know where he is. He wouldn’t come even if I called him. ….Guess I’ll have to come up with some more creative ways to get his attention. Still got your gun?”

“Why?” Mick asked warily.

“Gotta cross streams. We need an explosion. That’ll make him come running.” Len tipped his head back. “You listening, Flash?” He bellowed. “I’m waiting! Come and arrest me, you know you want to!” He gave Mick a slightly manic grin. “You think an explosion’s gonna do it, or do we have to steal something?”

“The hell does the Flash have to do with you fighting with your boyfriend?”

“Everything,” Len said hollowly. “It has everything to do with it.”

“If this is some sick punishment shit, you can leave me out of it. I’m not getting screwed over by the Flash so you can beat yourself up over whatever the hell’s going on with you and the kid.”

“It’s him,” Len said. “It was him all along. Barry… Barry is the Flash.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re crazy,” Mick barked, his breath misting in the air. “And drunk.”

“It’s true. That skinny red asshole… it was Barry all along. It’s him inside that suit. All that time I spent trying to track him down and the whole time he was lying there next to me…” Len laughed humourlessly. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m not,” said Len. “Wish I was. Wish this was the vodka talking. It isn’t. Barry’s the Flash. And he hates me.” He shook his head. “He was so pissed...he slammed me up against the wall with that speed of his. He could’ve killed me right there and never broken a sweat. Everything we dreamed, all we thought about the Flash and we never even scratched the surface.” 

All those nights he’d lain awake with Barry’s head resting on his shoulder, dreaming of the speedster without realising he was holding him in his arms. Imagining all the things the Flash could do, and yet all of it had paled in comparison to those few seconds of seeing Barry in action. So fast, and strong, and self-assured. He hadn’t doubted himself for a second. It was incredible, it made Len’s heart beat harder to think of it...and then he thought of the revulsion on Barry’s face, the angry things he’d said to him, and his stomach curdled. The alcohol in his system rebelled, threatening to make a reappearance.

Mick was starting to look wary. “The kid. He’s the Flash.”

“Yep,” Len said. Suddenly he felt incredibly tired. He could’ve curled up right there and fallen asleep on the sidewalk.

“How?”

“Beats me.” Len laughed suddenly. It sounded uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the night. “I jerked off over him. Got my rocks off to the Flash more times than I can count. I never knew it was Barry all along. Guess that makes me less of an asshole than I thought. Stupid bastard looks damn good in that suit.”

“Start from the beginning,” Mick said. “Minus the masturbation, I don’t wanna hear about that.”

“Can’t. I don’t know how it all started. He never told me… we were a little busy screaming at each other after the big reveal; I didn’t catch the details.” He forced himself to straighten up. “He found the tanzanite. I hid it in the apartment.”

“You idiot!” Mick roared. “You hid it in the apartment, knowing damn well you live with a fed? You practically gift-wrapped it! It’s like you wanted him to find it!”

“It was unin… un… nin…” Len’s clumsy tongue fumbled the word several times before he gave up. “I didn’t mean for him to find it. He took me by surprise. Came home early after the heist… had to hide it somewhere. I put it under the bed in the guest room. He was doing laundry… he found it. Knew straight away what it was… and I left him that note. He knew who took it.  _ Captain Cold, _ ” he mocked. “Guess it was only a matter of time before he figured it out.”

“The kid… he really is the Flash?”

“Sure is,” Len said, swaying slightly. “The whole time…”

“And you’re really gonna tell me you didn’t recognise him? You see him every damn day, Snart.”

“How am I supposed to recognise anyone in that gimp suit? And I never saw him for more than a few seconds.” Suddenly exhausted, Len struggled to stay upright. He groped blindly for a handhold and ended up gripping Mick’s meaty shoulder, his fingers biting into hard muscle. God, he was drunk. If he was being totally honest with himself he wanted nothing more than to topple into bed with Barry beside him, but that wasn’t happening any time soon. 

“The hell am I supposed to do now?”

“You’re the one with the plans. You figure it out.”

“I’m all out of bright ideas,” Len said flatly. 

“You want my advice? I think we should run. The Flash knows who we are and where we live. He’s pissed. He could be on our asses at any second and we can’t do a damn thing about it. We should get the hell out while we still can. We got the guns, we got money. We can make a living in another city where there’s no crazy shit going on and no superheroes to get in our way.”

"Not gonna happen," Len snapped. He'd have to be a whole lot more drunk than this before he'd agree to that. "Central City is my home."   
  
"And if you don't quit being so stubborn your new home is gonna be a cell in Iron Heights," growled Mick. "And I'll be in the cell right next to you. That happens, Snart, and I'll snap your neck - if it hasn't already snapped from the effort of supporting your thick skull."    
  
"Sticks and stones," Len said mockingly, but he gripped the butt of the cold gun a little tighter. "You expect me to run away with my tail between my legs? Not gonna happen."    
  
"We're out of other options. Your do-gooder boyfriend isn't gonna let this slide. We're gonna have the Flash on our asses and no fall-back, no back-up plan. You don't have a clue what you're doing. You're playing with fire, Leonard."    
  
"Ooh, _ Leonard  _ now, is it? I'm honoured. What'd I do to deserve that?"   
  
"Shut up and listen!" Mick barked. "I'm not taking the fall for your ass. Let your little boyfriend throw your ass in jail if you want, but I'm not going back to prison, Snart. Not without a fight."    
  
"If it's a fight Barry wants, it's a fight he'll get," said Len.    


He didn't think it  _ was  _ what Barry wanted, though. Maybe the kid wasn't quite the open book Len had always presumed him to be, but that didn't mean he was a stranger to him. Len had lived with him for the best part of a year now, and he had seen the tortured look on Barry's face. No. He didn't think Barry would fight him. He might take him in, but if Len showed any inclination to put up a fight, Barry would let him go. Of that he was almost certain.   


"You couldn't fight him," Mick scoffed.   
  
"Couldn't I?" Len asked.    


He gave Mick a hard look, letting all the steel in him glint in his eyes. For as long as he could remember he'd been fighting tooth and nail to survive. He'd grown from a scrappy little kid in juvy with a smart mouth and not a lick of sense in his arrogant head, to a grown man with ice in his veins and a penchant for trouble. But when it came to it, he knew how to fight his battles, and he knew when to give in. This one wasn't lost. Not yet.   


Mick met his gaze, his expression inscrutable.    


Len knew he'd won this small battle when Mick growled disgustedly and shook his head. "Fine. But you're not fighting anyone like that. We're leaving. Gonna take you someplace to sober up and sleep it off. That slide with you, _'boss'_?"   
  
"Better," Len said. Then he let his eyelids dip slightly. God, he was tired. The effort of holding himself steady through the booze-induced haze was taking its toll. The ground bucked and swayed beneath him like a bull trying to pitch him off its back. Gravity was tugging him off-kilter. Any second now and he'd fall flat on his ass and he had a nasty suspicion he'd start laughing if he did. A sorry sight that would be. Captain Cold flat on his back, braying with laughter like a donkey. Narrowing his eyes, Len dug his fingernails into his palm until the pain sliced through the haze and cleared his mind slightly.

He was still trying to pull himself together when one of Mick’s beefy arms slung across his shoulders. Furiously, Leonard struggled for a moment, but he was still unsteady and Mick’s hold, however unwelcome, was an effective anchor. Eventually for the sake of his dignity he had to stop fighting and surrender some of his weight to Mick, who grumbled ill-temperedly but yanked Len closer to support him.

“If you puke in my van I’m gonna rub your face in it, asshole.”

“Just shut up and get us outta here,” Len snarled, and they stomped off into the darkness.

~*~

 

Len was awoken by the urge to vomit, cry and puke, not necessarily in that order. He jolted awake to a thunderous pounding at his temples like a very determined door-to-door salesman hammering away at his skull, a foul taste in his mouth and sunlight seeping in through the cracks between the blinds. Lying face down on an unfamiliar sofa, he breathed in the smell of dust and spilled beer. Groaning, he flipped himself over and found himself staring right up into the sneering face of Mick Rory, who looked down at him with a smug look on his face that made Len want to vomit twice as much as before. 

“Morning, Snow White,” said Mick. “You look like ass.”

Len opened his mouth to retort and breathed out a cocktail of stale alcohol and horrendous morning breath. Gagging a little, he ran his dry tongue around his teeth and rasped, “Sleeping Beauty.”

“What?”

“You said Snow White. You meant Sleeping Beauty.”

Mick snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I know what I’m talking about. Snow White poisoned herself and passed out in someone else’s house. Sound familiar?”

Len was about to make some comment about Mick bearing a strong resemblance to Grumpy the dwarf, but just then his stomach gave a sickening lurch and he sat bolt upright, which did horrible things to the way his head was swimming. Irritably shoving Mick out of the way, he headed for the doorway, lips clamped together.

“Third door on the right,” Mick told him. “Oh, and open the window when you’re done. I don’t want you stinking out the house. The smell of puke makes me wanna hurl.”

Following his directions, Len ended up in a small, generic bathroom that he didn’t recognise - although his vision was still all over the place, so that was unsurprising. Presumably it was one of their safe houses - a rarely used one, judging by the stale air. The place didn’t feel lived in. Still, in terms of places he could choose to violently puke his guts up, he supposed it was fair to middling. He’d certainly vomited in worse places.

He stayed on his knees until he’d puked up everything in his stomach and then some - including, he suspected, several feet of intestine - but eventually he cracked open the window, splashed water on his face and returned to the living room in a vile temper, fists clenched.

Mick was sat with his feet up on the coffee table drinking a beer when Len returned. He paused, looked him up and down and then started laughing.

Seething, Len stormed over to the couch and sat back down, arms folded. He looked like a sulky child, he knew, but he couldn’t stop. Mick sat and laughed, the sound making Len’s headache magnify tenfold, whilst he ground his teeth and fought against fresh waves of nausea. Just as Len was starting to legitimately consider shooting him to shut him up, Mick’s laughter tapered off into a throaty chuckle, and he got up and headed off into another room. He returned a moment later with a huge pitcher of water and a pint glass, which he put on the coffee table with a snort of amusement.

Len held out for all of ten seconds before he said farewell to the remaining vestiges of his dignity and started guzzling water.    


“Exactly how much of last night do you remember?” Mick asked, eyeing him speculatively.

“I remember threatening to shoot you, and that offer still stands,” Len said acidly, slamming the glass down on the table and refilling it. His hand shook a little.

“And what else do you remember?”

Len ground his teeth, but cast his mind back. The events of the night before were, admittedly, a little hazy. Shortly after Barry’s hasty departure, he’d raided the liquor cupboard and downed a generous amount before making his way to Saints and Sinners to finish the job. Somewhere around the third or fourth drink at the bar, the details began to elude him. But there were a few points that came to mind, albeit a little fuzzily.

He met Mick’s gaze with one of his own, sharp as razor wire. 

“Bingo,” said Mick. 

He’d told Mick the secret. God. Furious as he might be with Barry, that had been below the belt. Sober, he never would have done it - not unless Barry had actually made a move against him, which so far he hadn’t. Metahumans excepted, the two people in this city who were probably best equipped to take out the Flash were himself and Mick, and now Mick knew exactly who he was gunning for. Len’s stomach convulsed in a way that was totally unrelated to the hangover.

“So,” he said calmly. “You know.”

Without breaking eye contact, he let his fingertips wander across the couch, searching. Kept it slow, idle almost. He couldn’t remember what the hell had happened to the cold gun. It wasn’t strapped to his hip like it usually was. His foot moved too, cautiously exploring the floor, ready to nudge the barrel. 

“You wanna watch yourself, running your mouth like that. Gonna get yourself into trouble.”

“Well, we both know how a little booze can loosen the lips,” Len said smoothly. His search was coming up blank. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Mick to scan the table, though he was sure it wasn’t there. No, he’d been stupidly drunk last night; not at all fit to be handling a weapon, let alone one of that calibre. Mick would have moved it. Hidden it out of reach. But where?

Mick reached for his beer with a grunt. “So. What now?”

Len raised his eyebrows. 

“So the kid is the Flash. So much for keeping him on a leash.”

Abruptly, Len thought of Barry slamming him up against the wall at super speed, of the hand held menacingly aloft, vibrating with a sound like an angry wasp. The fury on his face. So much for handling him. 

“You gotta admit it’s ironic,” Mick said, swigging his beer. “All that time we spent runnin’ round on a wild goose chase when he was right under our noses. That’s funny.” 

“Hilarious,” Len said sourly. “Put the damn beer down, Mick, you’re making me want to puke all over again. It’s too early for drinking.”

“Any second now some red asshole could burst in and arrest our asses. I’m enjoying life while I still can. No beer in prison.”

“We’re not going to prison.”

“Sure we are. He’s a cop. The second he finds us, we’re screwed. And not in the way you’d like.”

“Barry’s soft,” Len said. “He’ll want to see reason. Make excuses for me. He’s been doing it since we met.”

“Convincing. Except you clearly don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

“For once in your life you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“I used to trust you,” Mick said. “Now, not so much. Your head’s not in it. You’re too focused on the kid and not focused enough on the job.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Mick. I do the thinking, you do the thumping. That’s how it’s always been between us. I bring the brains to the table, you bring the brawn.”

“You bring the Flash down on our asses.”

Leonard lost his temper. It had been a long night, he was tired and still hungover as hell, he had no idea where Barry was or what the hell would happen the next time they saw each other, and now Mick was giving him the third degree.

“The hell do you want from me? You think I did this on purpose? Barry lied to me, Mick. You think this is what I wanted? He was the one thing in my life I managed not to screw up, the one good thing I ever did! I’m a thief, and a liar, and a killer, and I’d made my peace with that. Barry Allen was supposed to be the one thing I did right, and look how that turned out. I could’ve killed him.” He got to his feet and started pacing, taking the opportunity to scan the room for his gun. Still no sign. Knowing Mick he’d probably put it somewhere basic - under the bed, maybe, or in the back of a closet. Furiously, he rounded on Mick. “I don’t know what happens now. He could show up and throw us both in a cell, or worse. Word on the street is the Flash has his own little jail. Exclusive. Just the way we like it.

“Or maybe he’ll come beat the hell out of me instead. Depends on how mad he is, but he was pretty pissed last night, so you might end up scraping me off the sidewalk at the end of the night. You know how it feels to know that the person you care about might be gearing up to kick your ass the next time they see you? I’d like to say I’m unfamiliar with the feeling, but I’m getting used to it. It’s been a while, but my father taught me the value of a good beating, so I’m sure I can take a hit.”

“The kid won’t beat you,” Mick said. “He doesn’t have the guts.”

“He’s had the guts to beat the living daylights out of any metahuman that sets a toe out of line in this city. One ordinary guy won’t be a problem. Especially since  _ someone  _ has my gun.” Len glared balefully at him. “Where is it?”

“Up your ass. I had to do a little rearranging to get it to fit alongside the stick, but I’m sure you’ll find it if you have a root around.”

“I’m not in the mood, Mick.”

“Fine,” said Mick. “Jesus. It’s hanging in the hallway where you left it, asshole. I didn't touch it. You woulda ripped my hand off if I tried."   


He must have been obscenely drunk to have willingly left his weapon in another room out of arm's reach. Drunk, or self-sacrificing. With someone as fast as the Flash after him, he should have kept the damn thing on him at all times. It was a mistake he intended to rectify. Len got to his feet.   


"The hell do you think you're going?"   
  
"Home," Len said. "I'm not going to sit here hiding like a sitting duck waiting for him to come to me. If the Flash won't come to the bad guy..." He reached for the jacket he'd left slung over the back of the sofa. "The bad guy's gonna come to the Flash."    
  
"You're not seriously going after him."  
  
Len pulled his jacket on and wordlessly fastened it. Then he headed for the door.   


"Snart."   


Mick followed him.   


"Snart. Leonard."   


Eyebrows coolly raised, Len turned to him.   


"You're not usually this stupid. You said it yourself. You don't know what he's gonna do."   
  
"Well I can't wait to find out."    
  
"And if he kills you?"    
  
"He's one of the good guys. He wouldn't kill me."    
  
"He could still break every bone in your body and throw you in a cell. That what you want?"    
  
"I'll take the risk."    


"You're an idiot," Mick warned.   
  
Len lowered his voice. "I'm a good thief, Mick, but I'm not much good at anything else. There are a very small number of people I care about, but you know damn well what I'd do for any one of them." He had to fight to get the next sentence out, but he eventually ground out, "Barry changed things for me. Whether he realises it or not. After all those months being happy I figure I'm owed a little bullshit my way. Karma's a bitch."    
  
Mick stood and eyed him, evidently trying to decide whether or not he could talk him out of it. Deciding he couldn't, he just shook his head and picked up his beer again.   
"At least tell me you got a plan."   
  
Looking him in the eyes, Len smirked and said, "Oh, Mick, give me a little credit. I always have a plan."    
  


 

~*~

 

  
He didn't have a plan. Not even the suggestion of one. This time he was walking in blind, straight into a pitch black room full of traps. But in his defence, how could he have planned for this? He didn't even know if Barry was going to be there.   
  
Barry would return at some point, he knew. For a start, all his possessions were still in the apartment. On top of that, the kid was a martyr. He liked to pick at his wounds, prod them like missing teeth and then get surprised when it hurt. It was a compulsion. All those years spent morbidly obsessed with his mother's murder had proven that. So at some point, he would be back. The question was, when? And would he stick around for long enough for Leonard to intercept him, or would he just zip in and out at eight hundred miles per hour and refuse to say a word?   


Len let himself in cautiously, with one hand on the butt of his gun. In spite of what he'd said the usually short-lived nature of Barry's anger, he had to admit he didn't really have a frame of reference for this kind of situation. Barry cooled off quickly from little tiffs about doing the dishes or jealous spats about Wally, but he would probably be a little more sore about learning that Len had been hunting down his superhero alter ego for several months with the intention of using him as a pawn to rob banks for him.   


The apartment was still, and there was no sign that anyone had been there. Everything was the way he had left it, including the cluster of empty bottles and glasses on the coffee table. Len did a careful assessment of the room before he moved inside, keeping his eyes peeled for the slightest hint of movement. He came up blank.   


It took him all of five minutes to satisfy himself that Barry hadn't been back here since the night before. The pile of laundry was still where he'd left it on the floor of the guest room. Likewise, nobody had retrieved the tanzanite from where Barry had dropped it. Picking it up, Len gave it a quick polish on his sweater and then pocketed it. Waste not want not. Although he had to admit it was tempting to hurl the damn thing out the window after all the trouble it had caused him.   
  
After that there was little to do but sit and wait. Eventually he got too jittery to keep sitting around and decided to clear away the empty bottles from the night before. No use pissing off the kid even more. He was in the doghouse as it was.   


After a cursory tidy of the apartment, setting off the laundry Barry had abandoned and throwing away a whole bunch of mouldy food they’d left in the fridge, there was little left for Leonard to do other than sit and wait. Resting the cold gun in his lap, he positioned himself on the sofa so that he had a prime view of the door and then settled down.   


Silence. The minutes ticked by. Len's phone was dead; he plugged it in, let it charge for a few minutes and then turned it on. No messages, of course. He wouldn't be the first to break the accusatory silence between them. Besides which, he despised bitching at people via smartphone. It was a whole new level of pathetic and whilst he was sure Barry could deliver some scorchingly passive aggressive abuse via Whatsapp, he didn't plan to be on the receiving end of it.   


Even so, he checked his messages. Checked them again. Irritably tossed the phone onto the sofa beside him and sat very still, listening out hard for the slightest indication of Barry's approach - though a lot of good that would do him if the kid came exploding in at a hundred miles per hour like some kind of lunatic. Len tightened his grip on his gun.   


Something shifted - maybe just the apartment settling, creaking the way it sometimes did, or maybe a breeze from outside. Len jerked violently, whipped up the gun and was about a nanosecond away from wildly firing out into the room when he stopped himself. Wound painfully tight, he sat and waited. Nothing. No sign of any disturbance, just ordinary background noise which ordinarily wouldn't have even registered, but today it had him jumping out of his skin.  
  
Disgustedly, Len powered down the gun. It was pathetic. Captain Cold sat around jumping at nothing. Fretting over Barry's absence like an old woman. Clearly the kid wasn't half as concerned as Leonard was about this situation, or he'd be here and Len wouldn't have been left to run around the apartment tidying up and trying to make peace with him. And, he thought, why should he be the one to go down on bended knee begging for forgiveness? It wasn’t as if he was the only one in the wrong. Barry had lied to him too. True, maybe the kid had a right to know he was living with a felon - although Len had dropped more than enough hints about his unscrupulous past before - but equally, Leonard felt he had deserved to know that he was sharing house-room with a fucking  _ metahuman _ . That was a pretty big bombshell. Super speed, vibrating hands, and god knows what other tricks the kid had up his sleeve, and he’d kept all of it to himself.

Had he, though? Len wondered. Surely he would have needed help orchestrating all of this. The Flash had to have allies, he'd suspected that for a while. There was no way Barry could have kept this quiet without having  _ someone _ to confide in. Someone knew - those dork scientists maybe, or his father. Barry must have told someone. It was just that misguidedly, Len had assumed it would have been him. So much for that.   
  
None of them had bothered to inform him, either, and that rankled. You didn't have to be a smart-ass scientist to know that none of them liked him much, but common decency should have compelled them to at least give him a hint. Lately he'd been hanging out with them all more, for Barry's sake; he'd put Snow to bed after a boozy night out, risked his neck time after time visiting Henry at Iron Heights, spent a begrudging movie night with Joe and Cisco. All of that and they'd still kept him in the dark. Laughing at him, probably. Naive, stupid Snart, too dumb to realise he was living with a superhero. Len clenched his fists.   


He didn't let his anger build like this, usually. Tended to cut it off and mould it into something he could use. This time though, he let it grow, fuelling it with all of his hurt and irritation. He kept remembering things that suddenly made sense - Barry's late nights at the precinct, coming home exhausted, his weird low moods for no decipherable reason. Sudden spikes of energy. And Leonard was no expert on metahumans but he was sure Barry's dramatic spike in libido had something to do with that, too. It wasn't normal, to get that horny. So many strange things that hadn't occurred to him, yet now seemed obvious. The kid had probably been laughing at him behind his back this whole time.   
  
Knowing that he almost certainly hadn't been doing anything of the sort didn't make Leonard's mood any less foul. No, he was past the point of no return now. Wherever the hell Barry was, he'd better be prepared, because Len was gearing himself up for one hell of a fight. And the longer Barry stayed away, making Len, much to his chagrin, start to worry about him... the worse things were gonna be.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sex incoming!! to avoid, stop reading at 'Maybe we shouldn't,' and start again after the scene break ( ~*~ )

After a decent night’s sleep, a huge breakfast and a few more cups of tea as per Felicity’s recommendation, Barry felt a whole lot more well-equipped to handle the situation. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t still dreading facing Leonard again - his stomach gave a bilious lurch at the very thought. But he didn’t feel like his only option was to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction, which was something. How Len was going to react to seeing him again was anybody’s guess, but as long as he didn’t attempt to shoot him, Barry would be counting that as a victory.

“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Felicity asked as they ambled down the waterfront, Oliver and Diggle having fallen into step behind them. “You don’t have to go back yet. You’re more than welcome to stay with us for a few more days, it’s totally cool.”

“No, I have to go,” Barry said. “I owe him an explanation. Besides, the longer I stay away the more likely it is that he’ll freak out and disappear, and I don’t wanna lose him. I at least want to talk to him first. There’s so much I don’t understand about this, I need both sides.”

“Maybe,” Felicity said. Stopping, she rested a hand on his arm. “But if it gets too much for you, we’re always here. Team Arrow has your back.” She smiled encouragingly. "Hey! Who knows, maybe we'll come down and visit you in Central City. We could use a break from all the crazy down here. Right, Oliver?"   
  
"I'm sure we could figure something out," Oliver said.    
  
Barry looked at them all with warmth spreading through his chest. Although it didn't mask the unease he felt, it did reduce it a little. "Thank you," he said. "Really. For giving me somewhere to run to."    
  
"We've always got a place for you, Barry. Although maybe give us a little warning next time, and then you'd actually get a bed rather than spending the night on the couch."    
  
"Maybe if I ask nicely Oliver might make a little room for me in his bed next time," Barry joked.    
  
"Yeah, maybe not," said Oliver. But he smiled.    
  
Grinning, Barry hugged Felicity and kissed her on the cheek. He moved in to clap Diggle on the shoulder and found himself manoeuvred into a reassuringly solid hug. Then he went to hug Oliver, who stepped smartly back and offered Barry his hand instead. Barry raised his eyebrows.   
  
"Oh no. You're not getting away that easily. Come on, man. Hug it out." He extended his arms. "Don't run from your feelings, Ollie. You know you want one."    
  
Oliver grumbled and rolled his eyes, but he accepted the hug with good grace, giving Barry an eye-watering thump on the back to compensate. "Take care of yourself," he said in Barry's ear. "Don't take any shit from Leonard, or anyone else. If you need anything, call. We'll be there." He took a step back, one hand on Barry's shoulder to keep him at arm's length. "And if you'd like the Arrow to pay a little visit and teach your Captain Cold a lesson, I'm sure we can arrange that."    
  
"Thanks, Oliver," Barry said. Then he turned out towards the waterfront, the waves glittering as they lapped at the pier.    
  
"You know, in terms of efficiency this is the worst place we could have chosen to say goodbye," Felicity commented. "We could have given you a straight shot out of the city. This way you're gonna have to double back on yourself just to get to the freeway."    
  
"Nah," Barry said. "This is perfect."    


He eyed the water speculatively. Not that he liked to admit it, but very few things buoyed his mood as spectacularly as showing off. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he gave them a little grin before getting into a starting position, judging the distance. He was confident he could build up enough momentum for this. After all, he'd been practicing.   
  
"I'll call you," he said, easing a crick out of his neck from where he'd slept on Oliver's sofa. "Later. Leonard and I have a lot of talking to do."    
  
"Um," Felicity said. "Barry. You're kind of close to the - "    


Barry shot forwards like a bullet, straight off the edge of the pier. Arcing forwards, he hit the surface of the water and then put on a sudden spurt of speed, and then he was sprinting across the surface of the water, foam churning around his feet whilst spray erupted on either side of him. Distantly, he heard Felicity yelp as Team Arrow were showered with the water he was displacing, and Barry laughed delightedly as he ran, leaving his soaking wet and astonished friends far behind as he made for the opposite side of the harbour and for home.   
  
Strictly speaking he hadn't needed to do that, but it had cheered him up immensely. Sometimes he forgot that Team Arrow didn't know about half the cool shit he could do, and it was always nice to have a fresh audience. You could get used to anything after a while, he'd learned, and Cisco and Caitlin weren't so easily impressed any more.   
  
He reached the other side in seconds and then he was back on solid ground, steam pouring off him as his clothes dried off in the slipstream. Taking the most direct route out of the city, Barry set a steady course for home and hoped the shoes he'd borrowed from Oliver would hold. His own shoes had been a total loss. If there was one thing he regretted about this trip, it was neglecting to bring the Flash suit on the way. Still, even if anyone had seen him, the unmemorable face of some kid from another city was unlikely to get him into much trouble. Right now there were plenty of other things for him to worry about - Len being top of the list.   
  
He hadn't intended to dwell on it, but as he ran he found that his thoughts were drawn to Leonard as always, like a magnetic pull that he was helpless to resist. The harder he tried to think of other things, the more Len preyed on his mind. So Barry gave up, let his stride even out into a steady blur he could keep up for miles, and let his mind wander. The charm of his necklace bounced repetitively against his chest like an extraneous heartbeat.    


_ What now? _ he asked himself.   


Best case scenario, he would get home to find Len distraught, having been struck by unbearable remorse for his actions. He'd fall into Barry's arms, renounce his criminal ways and go out and to find a real, honest living, leaving Barry to continue with his Flash business unhindered. Ha. Barry snorted to himself as he ran. Pigs would land on the moon, set up a colony and declare war on the rest of the universe before that would happen. Even if Len felt a scrap of remorse for what he'd done, there was no way he would apologise for it. Not after the blazing row they'd had. Leonard could apologise very prettily when the mood took him, and sometimes he even meant it - but after all they'd said to each other? Not a chance.  
  
No, Barry would have a fight on his hands when he got home, he was sure of that. With this in mind he started conducting several furious arguments in his head, in which he had suitably scathing retorts for everything Len said, resulting in a victory for Barry and a sulky acquiescence from Leonard. It was immensely satisfying to take him down a peg or two in the safety of his own imaginings, even though he knew it would never happen like that in real life. Len's tongue was too smooth and Barry had too much of a tendency to trip over himself, stammer and flush and get too angry to remain coherent. No, more than likely he'd be the one to come off worse in that situation.    


About a hundred miles into his headlong dash for home, a very nasty thought occurred to him. Breaking stride, he almost tripped and had to stagger gracelessly to save himself as he realised there was no guarantee that Len would actually be at home at all. He could well have cut his losses and vanished. After all, by the time Barry got home Len would have had almost twenty-four hours to gather up his stuff and scarper. Suddenly feeling very sick, Barry slowed drastically. Len was a survivor. If he thought he had to up sticks and leave to save his own neck, he’d do it… or even worse, if he took Barry’s absence the wrong way and assumed he’d done the same.

_ I can’t do this,  _ Barry had said. The last words he’d spoken to him. What if Len had misinterpreted? What if he thought Barry meant them, their relationship, was something he couldn’t do, rather than just the mess of a situation he’d had to run from?

_ No,  _ Barry thought. He couldn’t think like that. Len loved him, in spite of everything. Those feelings couldn’t fade overnight. Surely he wouldn’t throw away what they had on the behalf of one comment. And there were so many things they still needed to say to one another, regardless of the outcome. So many unanswered questions. 

They needed each other, Barry knew. Whatever had brought them together was unbreakable. Len had stuck with him through a nine month coma, through late nights and cancelled dates and sick days. He’d held him when he cried and when he came, loved him and cared for him and let Barry see parts of him which, he was sure, no one else ever had. In some fucked up, senseless way, this was just another tie between them. The Flash and Captain Cold, Barry Allen and Leonard Snart, yet another inexorable link between them. Like fate. 

They would fix this, Barry thought determinedly. They had to. He wouldn’t lose Leonard over this. And if for some reason Len  _ had  _ left him, well. Barry was a fast runner. He’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he had to, and bring him home. Even if it was just for one night. They owed each other too much to leave without answers and with no goodbye.

Evening was falling when he returned to Central City; he sped through the city limits and slowed, dropping back to a normal pace. Shaking from lack of food, he took a quick detour for doughnuts - not from Jitters. The last thing he needed was to see Iris right now. He passed on the coffee; he was antsy enough without adding caffeine into the mix. Then he ambled for home, labouring over his food, trying to ignore the rapidly growing sense of dread in his belly. It gnawed at him like an animal. He hadn’t felt like this since the time he faced Blackout with no powers, no plan, and no escape route. Like a condemned man on his way to the gallows, he headed for home, dragging his feet the whole way.

The stairs to their apartment seemed to go on forever, but eventually he made it to the top. Paused by the front door with his keys in hand, taking deep breaths to try and convince himself to just go in.  _ Like ripping off a band-aid _ , he told himself, and unlocked the door.

Leonard was waiting for him, sat in the chair directly opposite the door; Barry’s heart squeezed and stopped, then started racing faster than before. He froze in the doorway. Len’s expression was inscrutable, but before the hard mask came down Barry had seen, just for a split second, a flicker of relief cross his face. Len’s eyes were cold, but that momentary lapse told Barry that it wasn’t too late to fix things between them. There was still hope. 

Even so, he was wary. He stayed in the doorway, key still in the lock. Len’s expression told him he wasn’t getting off the hook so easy - as did the cold gun, powered up and levelled at Barry's chest, thrumming malevolently.

Barry waited. He took in Len’s icy demeanor, the steadiness of his gun arm. He didn’t waver even for a second. Slowly, Barry lowered his hand, leaving the keys dangling from the lock.

“You gonna shoot me, Lenny?” he asked softly.

“I haven’t decided,” Len said coldly. “I’ll see where the mood takes me.”

They appraised each other for a moment. In spite of the threat, Barry wasn’t unduly concerned. If Len was serious about shooting him, the smart thing to do would have been to blow his head off the second he opened the door. Without the element of surprise, and in such close proximity, Len would be hard-pressed to get a shot off before Barry could get out of the way or launch an attack of his own, and they both knew it. 

“Can I come inside?” he asked. 

“Why? So you can kick my ass and arrest me? I don’t think so.”

“No,” Barry said. “I just think this is one conversation we don’t want the neighbours overhearing.” 

Len eyed him shrewdly, but eventually jerked his head. Barry stepped inside, closed the door behind him and put his keys back in his pocket. The jangling sounded obscenely loud in the tension of the room. 

“You came back,” Len said. “Thought you’d ditched my ass.”

“I needed some air.” Barry eyed the cold gun. “Are you gonna put that down?”

“I don’t think so,” Len sneered. “For all I know this is the only thing that stands between you, me and a nice cosy prison cell. Jail disagrees with me. I’m not going down without a fight.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

“I’ve had some time to think on it.”

Barry sighed. “I don’t wanna hurt you. I don’t want to arrest you, either. I just want to talk. Preferably without a weapon pointed in my face. It’s a little distracting.”

“Seems only fair. This is all I have to defend myself. All your weapons are built in. You could kick my ass in the blink of an eye. We can’t all be metahumans.”

“Please,” Barry said quietly. “I mean it. I don’t want to fight you, Lenny. I just need to talk. I need to understand. Let’s call a truce, okay? I swear on my father’s life, on Joe and Iris… on our entire relationship, anything you want. I will not hurt you. And you won’t hurt me. Not until we’re done talking.” He looked pleadingly at Leonard. “Can we agree on that?”

“There are very few people who would make a deal with me.”

“I’ll take the risk,” Barry said.

He could very clearly see Len weighing up his options, but eventually he powered the gun down and laid it on the arm of his chair. It was still within arm’s reach, but Barry would take what he could get. Slowly, he crossed the room and sat down, shifting his chair so that they could face each other.

“So I guess we both have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Maybe you do,” Len said insolently, examining his gun. “I think I made myself pretty clear. I’m a thief, I’m a liar, I hurt people, blah blah blah. Your turn.”

Barry had vowed to keep a level head, but Len was clearly trying to aggravate him. He took a deep breath. “You don’t think I deserve a little more of an explanation than that?”

"You don't think I deserved to know I was living with a metahuman? Don't you dare pin all this on me. I never pretended I was a good guy, Barry."   
  
"No, you just pretended to be a janitor instead," Barry said scathingly. "More fool me for buying into that one. I must be pretty stupid, huh?"    
  
"You said it," said Len.    
  
Barry took a deep breath. Len was angling for a fight and evidently had been since the moment Barry walked through the door. Rising to it wasn't going to solve anything.   


"Fine," he said. "You have questions. What do you wanna know?"  
  
"Everything," Len said. "What the hell happened to you? How long have you been like this? Who else knows what you are? I want you to tell me everything, Barry, or so help me I will shoot you. No more lies. I'm done. You let me in, or I'm out. And you can start with how the hell you turned into the fucking roadrunner."  
  
"It was the particle accelerator," Barry said heavily. "The night of the explosion a whole lot of people were affected. Not just me. I've always been accident-prone, but this time I lucked out. I got struck by lightning right when the particle accelerator went up. I ended up in a coma... you know all about that." 

He paused to gather his thoughts. Len had gotten a strange look on his face when he mentioned the coma. Neither of them liked to talk about it; it had been a dark time for Len, Barry knew, one he was keen to forget.   
  
"You remember those seizures I was having? The cardiac arrests that the doctors couldn't figure out?" Barry leaned forwards and reached for Len's hand.   


Len withdrew ever so slightly and Barry paused, but after a moment he very slowly continued the movement. His fingertips brushed the back of Len's hand, and when Len didn't pull away, he took Len's hand and guided it to his chest, laying it over his heart so that the other man could feel his heart racing. Speeding so quickly that each beat was indistinguishable from the next and they all blurred together.   


"You feel that?"   


Len frowned as if Barry might be attempting to trick him. His touch, which had been reluctant, became more insistent as he flattened his palm against Barry's chest. It was clear the moment he realised what he was feeling. His eyes widened slightly, his gaze dropping to his flattened hand and flickering immediately back up again.   


"My heart never stopped," Barry said quietly. "It was just beating too fast for their machines to handle."   


For a moment Len stared at him, and Barry felt something change between them. A shift to the way things had been before all the truth came out. All the anger momentarily faded away, and they gazed at each other again without the maelstrom of bitterness trapped between them.    


The moment passed; Len freed his hand with a jerk, snatching it away so sharply that it stung. Hurt, Barry sucked in a breath. Len wiped his hand off on his shirt like Barry had dirtied him.   


"So all this time you were him. Guess I should have figured that. You never did have any instinct for self-preservation."   
  
"No," Barry said. "I guess not."    
  
The silence stretched out between them until Len said sharply, "I said I wanted all of it. It's been months since you woke up from that coma. You've been a busy boy, Flash. Don't hold out on me now."    
  
"Don't call me that," Barry said.    
  
"Why? Do you prefer Scarlet Speedster? Streak? Little Red? That's cute, but a little too story-book for my taste."    
  
"Stop it," Barry said. "Just… stop."    
  
Len sneered, but he lolled back in his seat and said, "Fine. I'll play nice… for now." He rested his chin on his hand. "You know, I used to think I knew everything about you. I also used to think you were a bad liar. Guess you're full of surprises."    
  
"You have no idea," Barry said. Suddenly he ached to finally tell all. It had been taking all of his effort to keep from telling Len everything; now that he could, he didn't know where to begin. "The things I can do, Lenny. There's so much of it, and I learn new things all the time. I've  run up walls and walked on water. I raced a tornado and won. I've created sonic booms and saved this city more times than I'm aware of. There's so much you don't know."  
  
"And it never once occurred to you to tell me about it," Len said flatly.   
  
"That's not fair. I wanted to tell you, so many times. You have no idea how many times I tried. There was always something in the way, but I was going to tell you, I swear. The longer I left it, the harder it was. And there was one time... I swear to god I was _ this  _ close to telling you, I had it all planned out. That night I was gonna take you out and do it, and then I went up against this metahuman and I lost my powers. How was I supposed to tell you then? Would you have believed me?"  
  
Len stared him down without speaking. They both knew what his answer would have been: of course he wouldn't have believed him. He would have pinned it down to a delusion, just another crazy moment of belief in the impossible, and he wouldn't have known how to handle it. As much as Len tried to believe in him, in this he'd have been out of his depth.   
  
Before the silence could be broken again, Barry started talking. He told him about Mardon and Black, about his low blood sugar, hours of training and all the metahumans he'd fought. He talked until his throat was dry and even then he kept going. In some places he was sparse on the details; giving a full account of all his adventures would have taken hours and he didn't think Len would have the patience.

But he wanted to impress upon Len the importance of what he'd been doing, all the lives he'd saved, the little whispers in the back of his head that warned him not to tell his secret, to keep it close to his chest because he had always been so afraid that Len wouldn't understand -  _ and I was right _ , he wanted to say,  _ look at how you're looking at me. This isn't how I wanted you to look at me _ . It wasn't that he wanted Len to look at him like he was a hero. All he wanted was to know that things hadn't changed. That he could come home from a long, exhausting day of being the Flash and just be Barry Allen.    


Eventually he ran out of words. They sat and watched each other in the dying light, neither making a move to switch the lights on. Darkness fell so that Barry could only make out one side of Leonard’s face, and he couldn’t even begin to read the expression on it. 

“Say something,” he said, his voice scratchy from overuse.

Len sat and looked at him for a while, and Barry felt an intense urge to shake him, just to see if that cool demeanour would falter even for a second. 

“I’m getting soft in my old age. All those lies you told... Once upon a time I never would’ve taken your word for it. I would’ve checked up on you, somehow.” 

“You trusted me,” Barry said softly. “That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Evidently not,” said Leonard. “Or you wouldn’t have lied.”

With a prickle of shame, Barry looked away. Knowing he deserved that did nothing to lessen the sting.

Once again, quiet fell over the apartment. Len traced the contours of his gun with his fingertip, a languid movement with no seeming purpose, but Barry got the impression that it was comforting him in some way. The mere presence of the gun was making Barry uncomfortable; he could feel it there, an unhealthy reminder of everything Len had used it for, and knowing that it was soothing him to have it within arm’s reach only made Barry hate it more. Still, he didn’t complain. He supposed Len had a good reason to be wary. Barry could easily attack him, as he’d demonstrated; he thought of the other night, how he’d slammed Len up against the wall and threatened him, and felt another hot rush of self-loathing. How could he begrudge Leonard for feeling the need to protect himself when Barry had been the one to make it seem necessary? There were so many ways he could have demonstrated his powers, but he’d been so angry and hurt that he’d lashed out and shown him with violence, rather than letting him see the beauty, the miracle of what he could do. 

“I have questions,” Len said eventually.

Relieved, Barry said, “Okay. What do you want to know?”

Len leaned forward in his chair, finally taking his hand off the gun. “All those metahumans you’ve faced, all the fights you’ve been in… how many near misses have there been?”

“A few,” Barry admitted. More than he cared to admit, quite frankly.

“How many times have you almost died?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“How. Many?”

“You can’t expect me to - ”

“Answer the goddamn question!” Len snarled. “How many times have you almost gotten yourself killed, picking fights with people when you shouldn’t? I don't wanna know how many times you've gotten your ass kicked, god knows we'd be here all day if that was the case, but you tell me how many times you almost died, Barry Allen, and don’t you dare tell me you’ve lost count. How many?”

Barry had to sit back and think about that one. What exactly classed as ‘almost-died’, he wondered, when he’d had his ass handed to him so many times? Nimbus had almost killed him, he recalled. Tony Woodward had flattened him under a mass of debris, that had been a close call. He’d almost got blown up when Bette Sans Souci’s body turned into a bomb, and he supposed he might well have died when he fought Danton Black, if his guardian angel hadn’t shown up to save him. And then there was the second time he fought Blackout, when he would have been totally screwed if his powers hadn’t come back at the last second…

“Five, probably. Five or six.”

“I see,” Len said dangerously. “Five or six. No big deal.”

“Look, I know it sounds - ”

“And,” Len interrupted, “of those five or six times, did you even once stop to think about what it would do to me when you didn’t come home?”

“Len, I - ”

“Did it even occur to you?” Len demanded, blisteringly angry. His tone took Barry aback; he’d never seen Len this enraged, this close to losing control. “Did you ever once think of me, when you were out playing the hero in that idiotic outfit, thinking you were so much smarter than everyone else? How do you think I would have felt when you didn’t come home, Barry? When your skinny ass got delivered to me in a body bag and I had to live for the rest of my life knowing that you were out risking your life when you should have been here with me?” Lowering his voice, he said, “Did you think of me at all?”

"I did," Barry said. "I thought of you. Always." He leaned in. "Don't you see? I did it for you, and everyone else in this city. The people I fight, the metahumans I take down - they're dangerous, they hurt people. The police can't stop them. But I can." His eyes shone with conviction. "My life doesn't matter unless I can save this city. Unless I can keep you safe. I screwed up, I know I shouldn't have lied - but everything I do is for you."   
  
"Bullshit," Len said harshly.    


Barry flinched. 

“You can tell yourself that all you want. Maybe you even believe it, but it’s just a pretty lie you tell yourself to keep the guilt at bay. None of this was about me. If it was for me you wouldn’t have lied and carried on behind my back, you would have been honest with me from the beginning. You lied to me, Barry. I don’t trust so easy. You of all people should know that.” 

“Len, I - ”

“You never needed an excuse to play the hero. All you ever wanted was to save the day. Being the Flash was just the excuse you needed to be the hero you always wanted to be, and screw the consequences.”

“Well maybe I did want to be a hero! What’s so wrong with that? All my life I’ve been the little guy. I’ve had to fight my own battles, and I lost all of them. Other people had to do the fighting for me. And now I have a chance to give something back, to save people and look after the ones I care about. People need the Flash.”

“I needed  _ you _ !” snapped Len. “And you left me, Barry.”

“I came back,” Barry said. “But if that’s how you wanna play it, fine. You’ve asked your questions - it’s my turn. Did you ever think of how I would feel about what  _ you  _ were doing? Stealing, and hurting people? What if you got caught, how do you think I would feel if I got a knock on the door from one of the guys at work to tell me you’d been arrested? Or if you wanna talk about near-death experiences, somebody  _ shot  _ you!  I might have lied to you, but I was helping people. The only person you were helping was yourself, Len! You wanna blame me, you wanna be pissed at me for putting a bunch of strangers before myself, fine. But don’t act like you’re innocent in all this. Can you honestly tell me you thought about my feelings, when you were shooting people and robbing museums and god knows what else? Did you ever think about me?”

“No,” said Len.

Barry sucked in a breath. His eyes stung.

“I didn’t think about you,” Len said. “I thought about myself. The rush. Stealing for the hell of it, getting away high and dry. Lying to you was all part of the ride.” He tilted his head. “You want me to deny it? I’m a bad person, Barry. All this time I spent with you, playing domestic, it’s not who I am. As much as I might like it to be.”

“You never thought about me at all?” Barry asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“I thought of you a lot,” Len said, “at the start. When you were in the coma. I knew you’d hate me for what I was doing. I knew you’d be ashamed of me. That made it harder. Made me soft… so I stopped thinking about you. I put you out of my mind. When you came back, I still thought about you, but it wasn’t enough to change things. I am who I am.”

Turning away, Barry wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“So where does that leave us?” he asked. “You and me.”

Len stayed silent. The worst part was not knowing whether his silence was because he had no answer, or because the silence  _ was  _ his answer. 

They sat together as the light of the day finally dwindled away to nothing and the room was just barely illuminated by the faintest orange glow of the streetlamps below. All Barry could see was a vague silhouette of Len’s face, turned away from him to stare towards the window, and so he finally let a few tears fall, keeping his lips pressed together so no sound would escape. 

It was unbearable to be so close to him and yet feel like he was miles away, the few metres of distance between them like an uncrossable chasm. At least he’d finally taken his hand off the gun, Barry thought, although the clenched fists Len rested in his lap weren’t much of a reassurance. 

He couldn’t bear it any longer. Drawing a ragged breath, he said Len’s name and lurched forwards, reaching for him. Just to touch, to prove that Len wasn’t a statue and feel the warmth of him, to take some comfort from him the way he always had.

Len reacted immediately; snatching his hand back, he seized his gun, powered it up and aimed it squarely at Barry’s face, a snarl carved into his face. 

He didn’t shoot, but he didn’t have to; his response had cut Barry to the core. It was instinctive, a primal rush of fear that had caused him to lash out, anticipating an attack. Appalled, Barry stared at him, his hand still frozen in the space between them, now trembling. Len didn’t take his eyes off Barry’s face. 

“I wasn’t,” Barry said, his voice shaking. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t hurt you. Do you really think I could?”

Len’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. They flickered over Barry’s face, reading his expression, then down to his outstretched hand. Slowly, he powered down the gun and lowered it, resting it in his lap.

“No,” he said. 

“I just wanted you to hold me,” Barry said, his face crumpling. “Just for tonight. I can’t… I don’t know how to do this. Everything’s so messed up, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Can’t we just try to forget, just for tonight? I just need…” 

He broke down then, a single sob bursting through his defences and then bringing the rest crashing down. Collapsing in on himself, he started crying properly, half expecting Len to push him away and say something cruel, to act like none of this was bothering him at all.   
  
"Alright," Len said, and he tossed the gun onto the coffee table with a clatter that made them both flinch. "Okay."    


He tugged lightly on Barry's wrist. Clumsily, Barry stumbled forwards and toppled into his lap, and Len pulled him properly onto the armchair and held him close, his cool cheek resting against Barry's wet one. They clung to each other, survivors weathering a storm, whilst Barry's body was wracked with sobs and his gangly limbs spilled over the edge of the chair, not quite fitting properly into Leonard's lap.   


There were no platitudes, and Len made no verbal attempt to comfort him. He just held him, like Barry had asked, arms locked around him and keeping Barry clamped against his chest.    
  
Barry tilted his face up to look at him, trying to read his expression. Maybe it was muscle memory, or maybe Len just craved the same closeness Barry had begged for but had been too stubborn to express it - but he leaned in and they kissed, a nervous brush of mouths. Then again. And again, Barry shivering, half expecting to be shoved away until Len's fingers crept into his hair, his thumb stroking the fine hairs at the nape of Barry's neck. Barry went pliant, all his muscles loosening. A sigh escaped, and the kiss deepened, and it was as if all the pain and animosity melted away and they were themselves again, kissing like it was any other night, like they weren't both terrified of what might come next.  
  
Afraid to disturb the tenuous peace between them, Barry tried to ignore the building sensations between them, but his body was responding to Len's touch. A quiet moan almost escaped him; he choked it back just in time, shifting his position so that Len wouldn't feel him starting to get hard... and then he felt Len's cock pressing against his ass and realised it wasn't just him affected in this way, and a throb of arousal pulsed through him, amplified by the heightened emotions between them. Gasping a little, Barry rocked against him, and one of Len's hands slipped underneath Barry's shirt, cool fingers splayed across the small of his back.  

It was frightening how badly he craved it, the desire to just let his desires pull him under and lose himself in Len's body, and it was that which made him pull back, turning his face away so that Len's next kiss met his cheek rather than his neck.    
  
Steadying himself, Barry said softly, "Maybe we shouldn’t.”

After a long pause, Len said, “Maybe.”

“What I mean is I… I can’t do this if it’s gonna be goodbye. For old time’s sake. If we do this… I need you to promise me you’ll still be here in the morning. That we’ll try and work this out.”

Without speaking, Len gave him a gentle push, tipping Barry off his lap. Len took hold of his arm and led him through to the bedroom. He closed the door, then the curtains - and then methodically started to strip him, pulling Barry’s shirt over his head with unusual care, then moving down to the button of his pants. They undressed without speaking, and then Len gave Barry an almost playful shove, so that he tumbled back onto the bed, naked and waiting. He felt strangely vulnerable all spread out like that, almost shy - more so than he had even the first time they’d had sex, like Len knew every inch of him now. Even so, the older man paused to look at him, cataloguing every inch with fresh eyes. Taking in his flat stomach, the new taut muscles he’d gained in recent months, the smattering of hair leading down to his cock. A little unnerved by his scrutiny, Barry got a hand around himself and gave a few light tugs, trying to bring them back into known waters, and Len seemed to snap out of it and went to get the lube out of the drawer.

Laying down, he pulled Barry on top of him and uncapped the lube. Barry beat him to it, coating his fingers and opening himself up with practiced movements, stretching himself open. He kept his eyes closed, as if not looking would make this any easier. The vulnerability persisted. It felt like a first for him, a new shyness he’d not felt in years, like telling Len the truth about himself had stripped a layer of protection away and left new, fresh skin that was unused to being touched.

The head of Len’s cock nudged against his hole and Barry hesitated. He opened his eyes and looked into Len’s, and saw no judgement or anger in them. All of that had melted away, for now at least, forgotten the moment they were skin to skin. Breathing out, Barry started to ease his way down onto Len’s dick, feeling that initial pleasurable stretch as he entered, and then bottomed out. It felt like so long since they’d last done this, and Barry waited a moment to adjust, Len’s hands stroking down his sides, his thumbs coming to rest against Barry’s hip bones. 

Their bodies shifted together, falling back into familiar rhythms. Getting a better grip on Barry’s hips, Len started to guide him, squeezing him a little in encouragement as Barry started to ride him properly, slow, dirty grinds of his hips, occasionally lifting up onto his knees and then pressing back down again, making little needy sounds as Len’s dick rubbed up against his prostate. Barry got a hand around himself again, rubbing his thumb over his slit, spreading precome over the head until Len grabbed his hand, sucked Barry’s thumb into his mouth and laved over the pad with his tongue, stealing the smear of precome before Barry could wipe it away. 

Shuddering, Barry slowed his pace again. Strange how, ever since gaining his powers, going slow was what tended to really tip him over the edge. As much as he sometimes needed that rush of speed, slowness drove him insane, a myriad of sensations that were almost maddening, making him so desperate for more and yet secretly hoping for  _ less,  _ that somehow they could draw this out even longer, make him really ache for it. Whining quietly in the back of his throat, he pushed himself up onto his knees and let Len work for it, thrusting shallowly into him, his hips slapping against Barry’s ass. It was a filthy, decadent sound, it made him feel greedy, and Barry tipped his head back and pressed back down into it, his hands moving frantically over Len’s bare skin, unable to find a good purchase point. He was unsure of where he wanted to touch most and settled for anywhere and everywhere he could reach, featherlight touches that didn’t linger, needing to take in as much as possible.

They’d been fucking for a few minutes when Barry felt that familiar sensation, a vibration starting to build. His rhythm stuttered as he struggled to hold it back, and then it hit him like a sledgehammer that Len knew now, it didn’t have to be a secret any more. He could let go, allow Len to finally feel how much he made Barry lose control, the complete loss of inhibition that came with the vibrations. The thought aroused him and terrified him in equal measure. He didn’t want to hold back, but such an obvious reminder of his powers could ruin everything.

Feeling his tension, Len slowed for a moment and whispered, “Relax, Barry.”

“It feels so good,” Barry admitted, almost ashamed of how much he meant it. Loosely fucking into his own fist, feeling the silky slide of his cock between his fingers, and the urgent heat where their bodies were pressed together.

Len made a sound of agreement and thrust into him, hard, making Barry cry out. 

“Don’t think. You can let go,” Len whispered, gripping Barry’s ass with both hands, spreading him wider.

“Len,” Barry said, shaking with the effort of holding himself back. God, he wanted to let go, to just feel it, to have one of those intense orgasms he’d only ever had alone, because he’d never dared to let Len feel what his body could do when he lost control of it. “There’s so much I haven’t told you.”

“Shh,” Len told him. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

“But I - ”

“It’s alright,” Len told him, starting to fuck into him harder. A deliberate rub against Barry’s prostate made him gasp. “Let go for me.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” Barry said pleadingly.

“I don’t scare so easy,” promised Len, and his teeth scraped lightly against Barry’s jugular.

Letting his head drop forwards so his forehead rested on Len’s shoulder, Barry let a tiny vibration shudder through his body.

They both stilled, anxiety causing Barry to lock up. Len had definitely felt it. He had frozen, taking in the sensation, and for a moment Barry expected him to freak out and push him away - but then he made a low sound in the back of his throat and pulled him closer, kissing him with his hand resting possessively on the back of Barry’s neck. 

That small sign of approval was all Barry needed to make him utterly lose it. Working himself eagerly down onto Len’s cock, he started riding him in earnest. It was such a relief to finally let his body take what it craved and not fight it anymore, and he found himself wondering how it felt to Leonard - whether it felt strange to him, or whether he was feeling the same intensity Barry did when the vibrations started building, rolling through him in waves. 

They were both rushing for the finish line; Len flipped them both over so he could rock into Barry harder, their bodies pressed together so Len could absorb the vibrations running through him. Barry came first, a shockingly good orgasm that felt like fireworks going off, head tipped back and mouth open, the whole bed shaking with it. When Len followed him over the edge it was with a low curse and his teeth digging into Barry’s shoulder, panting in his ear.

They collapsed together in a sweaty mess, briefly pausing to disentangle themselves before they went boneless against each other. Laughing breathlessly, Len pressed a kiss to the already fading mark on Barry’s shoulder. They lay together in the darkness, catching their breath, Barry curling into Len’s side like it was any other night and feeling his heart swell with adoration, that Len had taken his strange vibrating orgasms in his stride without flinching, and maybe they could make this work after all…

~*~

 

Barry jerked awake to the sound of his alarm going off, jolting out of Len’s arms. For a moment he was disorientated, but then he recognised the sound; rolling over, he switched the alarm off, and lay for a moment staring at the numbers on the display. Len hadn’t reacted to the disruption; he must have been awake for a while. Tentatively, Barry rolled over.

Len lay flat on his back with his hands clasped on his chest, staring up at the ceiling unblinkingly. Heart sinking, Barry waited for Len to acknowledge him, but he seemed determined to act like their reconciliation last night had never happened. Barry sighed. Waiting for Len to change his mind once it had been made up was like waiting for a cliff-face to erode; it might happen eventually, but you’d be waiting a hell of a long time. So much for making things work. Apparently Len wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Shaking his head, Barry got up.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Len asked loudly.

“I gotta go to work,” Barry said, rubbing with mild distaste at the flaky mess on his stomach. He’d need a shower first. That’d teach him to skip the post-coital cleanup.

A very dangerous silence followed his announcement. Frowning, he turned to find Len propped up on one elbow, looking pissed as all hell. 

“Work,” Len said flatly.

“Problem?” 

"You don't think there are still one or two things we need to discuss, _Flash_?" Len said scathingly.  
  
"I know that," said Barry, fighting to stay patient. "But I can't just skip work, we've got bills to pay."  
  
"Call in sick."  
  
"I don't have any sick days left. Coma, remember? I've had more than my fair share."  
  
"Then tell them it's a family crisis," Len said, visibly getting angrier.   
  
"You don't think Joe might poke a hole in that story if somebody asks him?" Barry asked. “I have to go to work, Leonard. One of us has to work for a living," he added, a little bit acidly.  
  
"Well I still have that tanzanite stowed away somewhere if we get a little strapped for cash," Len said, matching his tone. "That'll tide us over for, ooh, I don't know... forever?"  
  
"Don't even think about it," Barry said sharply.  
  
Len smirked in a way that he didn't much like, but they had bigger concerns than stolen goods right now, much as Barry hated to admit it.  
  
"Look," he said, "I need to go to work. I need things to be... normal. And we're not getting anywhere holed up in here, bitching at each other. I think we both need some space, to think about everything."  
  
"You mean all the things you 'haven't told me'," said Len, eyebrows raised indelicately.  
  
There was no doubting what he was referring to. Barry flushed. The last thing he needed was an interrogation about what they'd done last night. "I think I've told you enough to be getting on with, don't you? It's a lot to take in."  
  
Len steepled his fingers. "That's true," he said.  
  
Barry sat down on the bed. Longing to take Len's hand, he decided he didn't dare. "We need some time apart. To think. To figure out where we go from here. You're the one who hates going anywhere without a plan."  
  
"And how do I know this isn't just an excuse to run away again? You say you're going to work, and then you go swanning off to god knows where and leave me in the dust. Or you put that dorky suit on and go skyrocketing around the city, saving the day, and get your ass handed to you yet again. You’ve been carrying on behind my back for months, what’s to stop you doing more of the same?”  
  
"You're not serious."  
  
Len stared him down. Barry's heart sank.  
  
"You don't trust me at all, do you?"  
  
"Give me one good reason why I should."  
  
Getting up again, Barry paced up and down a few times, resisting the urge to start yelling at him. If he didn't know how badly he'd screwed up, he'd have been furious with Len for making things so difficult. As things stood... maybe he had a point. Barry had screwed him over. Trust would be a fragile thing between them for a while; it had to be rebuilt.   
  
"Okay," he said, "so you don't trust me. Maybe I deserve that." Flitting into the other room, he reappeared with his phone, pretending not to notice how Len stiffened at the display of speed.  "I'll turn on my GPS," he said, tapping away at the screen. "That way you can see where I am. This isn't a permanent solution, okay? I can't live like that for the rest of our lives, having you follow my every move - but for now, I'll compromise. You know my Google password, right?”

Len drawled, “And what’s to stop you from leaving your phone at your desk while you go playing the hero?”

“What do you want from me?” demanded Barry. “What more can I do? Do you want to electronically tag me, is that it? Or maybe I should wear a headcam so you can watch what I’m doing every second of the day? I screwed up, Len, I admit it, but this is crazy!”

“What’s crazy is you being a superhero behind my back,” snarled Len. “How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing you could be off getting yourself killed at any second?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I’m trying to help people!”

“And who’s going to help  _ you _ , Barry? Aside from a mortician?”

“I’m not doing this alone. Cisco and Caitlin help me. And Doctor Wells. I have a communications link at all times, and tech support whenever I need it - ”

“So they’re sitting safely in their lab while you risk your neck. Isn’t that sweet? How exactly is that supposed to help you, when you’re getting your ass kicked?”

“This isn’t helping,” Barry said. “You’re not listening to me.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending it into disarray. “Look, I have to go. I’m going to be late. I’m just going to work, okay? Nowhere else. You can come check on me later, or do a video call, or whatever makes you feel better - but I have to go. There and back, no exceptions.”

“And if a metahuman starts smashing up the city while you’re gone?”

Barry hesitated. “We’ll talk about that if it happens,” he said eventually, although the thought of having to call Len to ask for permission to intervene in the event of a metahuman attack made him feel ill. The mood he was in, Len would probably refuse purely out of spite, leaving Barry to decide what he valued more - dozens of strangers lives, or what was left of their relationship.

“Okay, I really have to go now. I’m in a rush,” Barry said. “You mind if I…” He held his hand up and vibrated it questioningly.

“Be my guest.”

A second or two later Barry was fully dressed, struggling to smooth his hair down in the mirror. All the zipping about he’d just been doing had messed it up even further. He tried to ignore Len’s eyes boring into his back, but he felt his cheeks heating up. When he couldn’t possibly avoid it any longer, he turned around.

“Handy,” was Len’s verdict.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Barry said. There was something niggling at him. Painfully aware that it could spark another argument, but feeling he had to say it anyway, he said, “I won’t do any Flash business today, as long as you promise not to go out and play Captain Cold. Don’t… don’t hold up any banks or rob a store or whatever it is you do. Please. Don’t hurt anyone, don’t steal anything, don’t shoot anyone or break into a jewellery store, just… lay low for me, until we can talk about this.”

“Are ATMs off-limits?” Len said. “Because there’s one a couple of blocks away with a loose connection and blown-out CCTV on the street corner, and I’m pretty sure it has my name on it.” He rolled his eyes at the outrage on Barry’s face. “I’m messing with you, Scarlet. I’ll be good. For now.”

“Thank you,” Barry said.

In an unspeakable feat of daring, he zipped back across the room to kiss Len on the cheek. Startled, Len frowned, but he didn’t push him away. Barry’s heart gave a hopeful leap.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, and he sped out through the door, praying to god that Len would keep to his side of the bargain.


End file.
